


The Last Dancer

by StarryKnight94



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Dance Magic Dance, Elemental Magic, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Magic, Mystery, Politics, Possessive Katsuki Yuuri, Slow Burn, Some Violence (warning in chapters), Victor Nikiforov is an Asshole, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, but not really?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 115,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryKnight94/pseuds/StarryKnight94
Summary: Victor Nikiforov is a rare and powerful elemental dancer gifted with the magic of an Ice Goddess. Yuri Plisetsky has just been named his successor. Katsuki Yuuri is the dark horse, inexplicably summoned by the Goddess to train alongside his idol of 11 years. Yuuri thinks it's all he's ever wanted, but fate is a fickle thing.





	1. Chapter 1

The gift presented itself in a number of ways. Yuuri’s appeared when he was just an infant. Swaddled against his mother, draped in wool, he’d raised his pudgy little fingers toward the stuffed animal his father had brought him and, upon touching it, encased the toy pig in a thick coating of ice. According to his parents, always excited to relay the story for the umpteenth time, that’s when they knew. That’s when they called Celestino, the chief elder of the Eastlands to oversee his training. He was deemed a dancer. Hand of the Goddess. Protector of his people.

Yuuri read enough about Victor to know that his story had gone a bit differently… No one had been present to see his gift’s first efforts. Victor’s parents abandoned him early on, leaving him to an ailing grandmother and the mercy of the arctic streets. He hadn’t been discovered until age eight, dancing in the lonely corridors of an orphanage, ice crystals forming and jeweling his silvery tresses as he twirled in the dark. But Victor was no ordinary dancer.

Victor was 'chosen' as they called it. Primaja. The dancer all dancers hoped to one day be. A Primaja only awakened every ten years or so to do the highest bidding of the Goddess. To dance the ritual at her shrine  and keep the Fire God at bay. Near the end of their tenure, they helped to train the next in line. Once retired, they were revered and celebrated by all, often retreating into comfortable, secretive lives after spending so long in the public eye. Yuuri wondered how Victor would retire…

His fingers curled roughly into the arm of the sofa, eyes downcast. In his innermost daydreams, he imagined himself as the one Victor would pass the torch to. The shining new Primaja who would excel and flourish under his tutelage. Part of him had always known it couldn’t be… He and Victor were far too close in age— a mere four years apart— for him to awaken as Primaja so soon after him. He was too old to present now and he couldn’t even properly use his gift anymore. Not after what happened... He’d known all of this and yet still, he felt a deep, aching disappointment as he stared up at the television screen, the spunky blond smirking back at him, green eyes aflame.

Yuri Plisetsky, 14, of the capitol city, had just been named this decade’s Primaja.

Yuuri shifted about uncomfortably from his place on the sofa and he felt a firm but gentle grip on his shoulder. Yuuko. He tugged at the pendant around his neck.

The press conference commenced. Yuri Plisetsky sat all suited up beside Victor whose soft blue eyes showed no envy or animosity at his looming retirement and the one who would eventually usurp him. Only his usual politeness and a teasing fondness for the boy at his side. His humility didn’t seem to rub off on his companion, however.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” one of the reporters addressed their panel. “What was your awakening like?”

Yuri gave a smug grin to the cameras. “It was insane," he shrugged as if he presented as Primaja everyday. "The lights went out for miles! Pine trees uprooted! Probably the strongest awakening in like a century.”

Victor chuckled softly into his hand and the boy glared up at him.

Another voice called from the crowd. “You’re only 14 years old. If the Goddess calls to you early, are you prepared to assume an undertaking of this magnitude?”

The blond scoffed, a look of pure arrogance tinged with agitation twisting his delicate features. “Prepared? I’ve been dancing since I was four.” He folded his arms behind his head, leaning back against the conference chair with his legs open in the most ungentlemanly manner. “My mother was a Primaja? It’s in my blood, dumbass.”

Victor leaned forward, all smiles, long silver hair falling forward over his shoulders. “Yuri shows a lot of promise, but like any Primaja, he can stand to improve. He will be training with me to do his very best for the Goddess over the next year.”

Yuri Plisetsky obviously did not like this. Seething, he scowled up at his mentor. He kept his voice low, but the mic on his lapel picked up the venomous “I don’t need you, old man!” The video promptly cut to a clip of Victor gliding about an ice rink, the announcer speaking overhead about his tenure as a dancer. And a skater of course.

Unlike any Primaja before him, Victor chose to skate the ritual dances across the ice of the shrine. He said it gave him better movement and speed and allowed him to be closer to the ice covered shrine than his predeccesors. Yuuri watched, as he always did, hypnotized by the motions. Victor danced in the sheer, colorful robes donned only by the Primaja. They billowed beautifully around him as he soared over the ice, arms opening wide, hair fanning out behind him in silvered waves.

As always, the world disappeared around Yuuri, the living room, his parents, Mari, Yuko, the rectangular outline of the television— all gone. Only Victor remained, beckoning him with his body alone. Calling to him and only him. He lifted his hand slowly toward the screen so that Victor skated across the outline of his fingers, twirling over his thumb and gracefully toe looping onto his palm. His fingers curled in to possess him when all the color quickly seeped away from the screen, leaving it black and blank.

“That’s enough of that,” Mari sighed, eying her little brother from the floor cushions. Yuuko’s grip on his shoulder tightened and he avoided her gaze.

“It should have been you, Yuuri.”

“It’s fine.” He shrugged away, eyes still trailing the fibers of the red carpet at his feet. “It wasn’t realistic for me to…” He took a deep breath before starting again. “I think we all saw this coming.” Putting on a lopsided grin, he stood from the sofa. “I’m sure Plisetsky will do an amazing job.”

“Kid seems like a nightmare,” Yuuko’s husband, Nishigori, put in.

Ignoring him, he turned to his parents. “Mom. Dad. Can you call Celestino and let him know I won’t be needing his services any longer?”

Their features tensed in surprise and then they finally nodded rapidly to compensate for the pause. “Yes, of course, Yuuri.”

Nodding with the same wavering smile, he turned toward the wood paneled staircase that led to the second floor. “I’m gonna turn in early.” He moved to climb the first step and then the second, his back and neck burning with stares. Finally he paused to utter the tiniest of whispers, eyes shadowed.

“Sorry.”

By the time he’d made it to the second landing, he was trembling, fat tears streaming down his cheeks. He’d failed them. Everyone in his hometown had rooted for him since he was just a child. They’d called him the Hasetsu Prodigy, the one whose gift appeared straight out of the womb. Rarely could a dancer claim that. Unfortunately, he’d peaked early, only to be replaced with a younger dancer of the same name. He snorted. Was it the Goddess’s cruel idea of a joke? He buried his head in his hands once in the safety of his bedroom, the door shut behind him. Releasing a guttural sob, his back hit the wall and he slid down onto the floor. Dozens of blue eyes stared back at him, the color of endless, open sky, the color that painted all of his hopes and dreams for the past ten years. 

  
He forced himself to gaze back at his favorite likeness of the bunch, the Primaja just before his first dance, bright eyed in robes of purple, rose and blue draped over his shoulders, a crown of ancient jewels resting atop his silvered head.

 _Victor_ , he thought, the image blurring as fresh, hot tears obscured his vision. _I’m sorry._


	2. The Awakening

"This is no reason to slack, Yuuri," the stern female voice chided him from the other end of the phone. "A dancer still has to dance."

"Yeah," he muttered absentmindedly into the receiver, still sprawled out over his bedsheets in pajamas as he had been all morning. "I know, Minako."

"Then why haven't you been out of the house in weeks?!" Her tone razored and Yuuri flinched away from the speaker. He'd forgotten just how quickly his dance instructor could go from dainty ballerina to ferocious tiger. Minako was a Primaja in her heyday and his parents swore that she still looked every bit as young and graceful as the day she first stepped onto the ice of the Goddess's shrine. Her tenure as Primaja had been cut short due to injury, but once she'd recuperated, she continued to work together with the capitol and countless promising, young dancers. She'd even worked with Victor for spells, always sure to bring Yuuri pictures and tokens of her time with him back from the capitol. Minako swore fierce fealty to the Goddess through her actions alone and she expected the same from everyone else.

"You still have a duty to the Goddess, Yuuri. You might not be called to the capitol, but you can do just fine right here. Hasetsu needs you. You know that."

"I know…" He ran his fingers through his bangs, staring blankly at a ridge of torn fabric in his pillowcase. Unlike the capitol in the Westlands, Hasetsu didn't have the best placement. The Eastlands were the farthest from the capitol and, in the past years, the ice began to melt in Hasetsu's surrounding areas, leaving dark, cracked earth in its wake, fire brimming beneath its surface. Some said the change was owed to the remnants of the Fire God supporters who'd been multiplying like insects over the years, growing stronger. The fire people had taken to roaming the area, plotting in the dark and peaking out every blue moon to commit unspeakable atrocities. Yuuri shuddered. As a dancer, he didn't possess the power to ice over the lava and blackened rock as the Primaja did, but he could at least aid in keeping it controlled.

"Have you talked to Celestino at all?" she asked.

"Yeah," he muttered, not caring much to elaborate. "For a bit." His eyes trailed to the little black box on his night stand.

"Hm…" Minako sounded as though she were deep in thought for a moment. "You haven't been eating pork cutlet bowls everyday have you?"

He swallowed hard.

"I swear if you got fat again—!"

"Minako!" Nervous laughter bubbled from his lips as he pinched at his thickening gut. "I'm not! Really!"

"Yuuri," she said and he could hear the edge seeping from her tone. "You might not be Primaja, but only a small percentage of the population is even gifted with the power of the Goddess. That is still an honor."

"Yeah," he whispered, eyes floating toward his wall of posters. He wondered if Victor would see it that way.

"It's just too bad," she groaned. "If his mother is any indication, that Plisetsky kid is a little shit."

Yuuri's lips curved up into a smile. "Didn't you train her, Minako?"

"I didn't have the chance after my accident." The regret was palpable through the phone. "I tried to help once I was able again, but I don't think she ever forgave me," she sighed. "Plisetskys."

Yuuri snorted, remembering the defiant demeanor of the young blond, arrogant and quick to pounce. Like a wildcat. Victor had his work cut out for him. That was for sure. "Plisetskys."

They shared a short laugh followed by a pause.

Minako's voice was soft when she spoke again. "You know you can still meet Victor, Yuuri. He does shows in the capitol city every month."

"Yeah, you've only invited me a dozen times," he replied with a smile. "Thanks, Minako, but I didn't want it to be like that." He turned onto his back, eyes trailing back and forth between the collage of Victor and the framed pictures of his own skating and dancing career sitting neatly on his bookshelf. "Not as a fan."

"Can't always get what you want."

"Yeah," he blinked, dozens of unfulfilled daydreams vanishing with the motion. "I know."

* * *

 

"So how come the Goddess didn't pick Yuuri?!" Lutz asked, scrambling out of Yuko's reach, her sisters fast on her tail. "What is she? An idiot or something?"

"Hey!" Yuko finally caught her by the collar and glowered down at the three. "Don't talk about the Goddess that way! Do you want to get smote?!"

Yuuri just chuckled at the exchange. At the very least, he supposed he always had cheerleaders in the Nishigori sisters.

"Come on!" Yuko attempted to wrestle all three of them by the waists at once, finally achieving the feat after three laps around the coffee table at the center of their dining room. "It's way past your bedtime!"

Loop managed to wrench free, plopping unceremoniously on Yuuri's lap. "Yuuri, what happened to your stomach?"

"Eh…" Yuuri trailed off, immediately yanking his blue tee down over his gut as far as it would go.

"Did the Goddess not choose you because you got fat?" Axel plopped on the other leg.

"Does the Goddess not like fat people?" Lutz finished, catching him around the neck.

"Hey!" He pulled away, attempting to relieve himself of them. "I'm not fat!"

Yuko sighed in defeat, walking across the living area to sit down beside them on the carpet. "As much as we wanted Yuuri to be chosen, you shouldn't talk about the Goddess like that. Who else is going to protect you from the Fire God?!"

"Oooh! The Fire God!" Axel cried theatrically, her mouth going slack, rigid arms lifted forward in zombie-like fashion. "I'm the Fire God! Ooooh!" They all paraded about the coffee table chanting nonsense, pretending to be fire people.

"Stop that!" Yuko growled.

Yuuri grinned fondly, nostalgia blooming in his chest. Hadn't they played these sorts of games when they were younger? Imitating the beautiful Ice Goddess and the Fire God at battle.

All the children of their world had heard the story at least once. Fire and ice had coexisted in peace once. But the Fire God's people grew mad and hungry with power, transforming the land into a volcanic hellscape. Seeing her own people in distress, the Ice Goddess tricked the Fire God into a lull and then trapped him and his powers within his own cooled lava before encasing the world in ice and snow. Her powers lived on through her dancers and, of course, the Primaja who performed the sacred ritual every three months, keeping the Fire God imprisoned in the shrine.

"It should have been Yuuri!" Axel droned in her zombie-like fire demon voice.

"We choose Yuuri!" they all chanted.

Yuko swatted them all over the head with a newspaper and they scattered away, giggling. "That's enough out of you! All of you! Go to bed!"

Yuuri chuckled, pushing himself from the carpet as the three scrambled into the hallway and away from the offending newspaper. "It's late. I should probably head out too."

He scratched the back of his head, eyes lowering to the ground. It was nearly midnight. He and Yuko had always let time run away from them when they were together, but things were different now. She was a married woman and he had to respect that. He'd tried to put more space between them while he was actively training as a Primaja hopeful. Practicing extensively, traveling to pilgrimage with other dancers for months at a time. But in the past month he'd been too depressed to focus and found himself wandering back to old habits.

"You sure you don't want to stay the night?" Yuko frowned. "Takeshi wouldn't mind and it's dangerous for a dancer to be wandering around at night."

"Ah… well…" Yuuri stammered, wringing his hands. He stared down at his backpack on the carpet, where the tiny black box peeked out of the side pouch. "I was actually gonna head to the Ice Castle…"

"The rink?!" Yuko's eyes immediately lit up as he knew they would, life spilling onto her features. "Yuuri! You're going back! That's so exciting!"

He couldn't help the grin from spreading over his lips at her reaction, but still he hushed her. The last thing he wanted was for the girls and Nishigori to hear…

"Yuko," he paused and took in a deep breath, eyes trailing downward. "I want to show you something."

Her brow creased, features sobering. "… Yuuri?"

"Celestino sent it to me." He pulled the bag from the ground and tossed it over his shoulder. "Will you come see?"

A wide grin broke out across her petite features. "Of course!" She winked. "Besides, you'll need someone to protect you from rogue firestarters!"

His quivering smile mirrored hers as they headed for the door, unable to keep the blush from creeping over his cheeks.

* * *

 

The Ice Castle stood eerily quiet in the dead of night— a stark contrast to the daytime when children pranced over the ice in imitation of the beloved Primaja and generous dancers on pilgrimage came from all over to join in service with him. To protect Hasetsu. Of course he hadn't been dancing recently, to honor the Goddess or otherwise. That would change tonight, he thought.

Yuko hit the overhead lights and they flashed on with a resounding clap, one by one. The light's glare upon the ice made Yuuri squint and energized him all the same. He dropped his backpack against the stands and moved to pull his skates out.

"Yuuri!" Yuko cooed from behind him, her eyes watering as she clapped. "I'm so happy! I thought you wouldn't skate again for months."

"I didn't want to," he admitted, finishing the lacing on his skates. "But then I…" he trailed off and looked up to give her a smile. "Wait till you see."

She beamed excitedly and he was suddenly overcome with gratitude for her being there. Yuko had always been there from the beginning. As a child, he hadn't quite understood his gift or why he should care so much about it. He could have easily thought of ten other things he'd rather be doing than learning dance rituals and perfecting his pirouette. Then Yuko joined his lessons, so bright and eager, and they suddenly didn't seem so dull. Yuko was the only one who cared to make his destiny as a dancer something other than a vague and ominous responsibility that loomed over every formative moment of his childhood. She was the first to show him the footage of Victor, the Primaja in training, soaring across the ice at 16, a ribbon in his hair and all of the universe in his eyes. In all of the ancient texts he'd been forced to page through, in the most detailed of Celestino's elder teachings, the most spartan of Minako's lessons, he'd never seen or felt anything like it. With Yuko's ardent support and full-time use of her family's rink, he began to practice his dances on the ice as Victor did. He began to see the beauty in them— in his purpose as a dancer. He built his loyalty to the Goddess on Victor. His motivation. His devotion. Yuko had first given him that. Now it was his turn.

"In here." He motioned Yuko into the tech booth where they broadcast the rink's music and housed emcees for special events. With trembling fingers, he plucked the thumb drive from the black box and plugged it into the main computer. With a few clicks, a new window opened and the ice rink suddenly filled with the ambience of ice and wind. A lonely backdrop of white covered the entire screen, the ground a thick sheet of ice, flurries drifting throughout the terrain. It went on that way for a while and Yuko's lip started to crease downward when color bloomed onto the screen in one sweeping motion. Sheer gossamer robes of plum and gold billowed in the wind as the flower took its stance at the center of the white sea. It pressed its palms together, head bowed, eyes closed and then slowly, gently, the wind began to sing.

"Yuuri," Yuko choked, eyes so wide he thought they might bulge out. "Celestino sent you this?"

"Yeah," he replied, eyes still drawn to the figure on screen, arms lifted gracefully above its head, expression somber. "I guess he wanted to cheer me up." He chuckled nervously, his breath hitching as Victor began to glide over the ice, the wind's song swelling with each motion.

"H— How did he get it?" she stammered, leaning in so close to the screen that her nose nearly bumped the monitor.

"He sits on the elder council," Yuuri shrugged. "He can probably get anything if he really wants it."

"But should we be watching this?" She asked, her eyes never leaving the screen, where the Primaja had picked up speed, completely oblivious to the roaring winds of the shrine. Icy tendrils and flakes seemed to sparkle into being around him, following him like a protective cloud. "It's fine when he's performing offsite, but the actual ritual?" She bit her lip. "Isn't it illegal?"

Yuuri nodded absentmindedly. The thought had occurred to him the first time he'd seen it. And the second time. By the dozenth time it had resigned itself somewhere in very back of his mind and now, he couldn't look away if he tried. Typically, novelties lost their appeal after each repeated experience, but this was different. With every viewing, Victor drew him further into his frosted web and he didn't want to be freed yet. Not when he was so close.

The dance wasn't quite like his usual performances. Victor typically played to his fans just before, sometimes breaking character to grin or wink at them through out his skate— the perfect thespian. But now his features were completely somber, his movements melancholy and deliberate. Almost sad. He outstretched one arm to the sky, his eyes following the motion, as if pleading for something before turning and leaping into a flawless quad flip. The wind applauded him in its volume, catching the snow and careening it into a whirling funnel with Victor at its center, his pale hair and robes drifting upward in the wind's flow. He opened his arms, letting it take him, sweat tinging his forehead, breathing heavy. And yet, he'd never appeared more ethereal to Yuuri than he was now. The screen cut to black and a short silence filled the booth.

"I think I'm ready to dance again."

Yuko still stared at the blank screen, hands gripping her mouth, tears in her eyes. She finally turned to him with a shaky smile and a thumbs up, her voice obviously failing her. But Yuuri had already stepped out onto the rink, the familiar sound of blades against the ice invigorating him. He placed his arms first at the sides of his sweatpants and then lifted them before him, one hand completely extended, the other gripping its bend — the starting pose of his favorite peace dance.

This was the first dance he'd ever truly wanted to learn, despite the countless routines Minako and Celestino had drilled into him prior. He'd watched Victor's televised performance of the dance with Yuko and it was all they talked about for days. Then they grew tired of just talking about it and he begged Minako to teach them, begged Celestino to approve him to perform it in ritual. He dreamed of dancing it at Victor's side one day, protecting the land from the Fire God together, sparing secret winks at the cameras.

Typically, dancers performed with drums and string instruments. Other times, they performed with vocals alone. Tonight, Yuuri did not need any accompaniment. Eyes shut, he lifted his arms from his sides, imagining a soft cello and a steady drumbeat, the wind whistling gently in the background. He moved backwards and rolled his shoulders along with the phantom music, the movement arching to his back and rippling through his hips. He launched to the side and spun gracefully in a circle, one leg pointed outward.

The familiar rush of power rose within him, its strength numbing his skin and straightening the hairs at the back of his neck. The music grew louder, the wind rushing. The Goddess was here now using him as a conduit to channel her magic deep into the earth, preserving the ice, keeping the fire at bay. Her power flooded him until his body no longer moved of its own volition. She bent and twisted him like a puppet, his limbs recreating her every whim. His skin tingled with the gift just beneath it and he pleaded with her, as he always did, "Please. Please let it come back."

It didn't. It never did. So he continued to make believe. He imagined the glittering gems of ice and frost sprouting from his fingertips, misting around his skin. Hovering protectively around him, a bejeweled cloak. Victor looked so beautiful surrounded by ice. He used his gift so effortlessly that Yuuri should have been jealous, but he was always just awed and hungry for more.

_Victor._

He placed his palms together, eyes closed, the wind roaring.

_I'll reach you someday. I swear it._

He soared into a spin, arms open.

_Even if I only have my will to guide me._

He raised one arm toward the ceiling as though a string tied his wrist, his gaze following it.

_I'll get to you._

"Yuuri…" Yuko called worriedly from the sidelines, but her voice blurred into nonsense. It was so loud, he couldn't even hear the music anymore. Just the wind. Screaming. Screeching.

He wasn't sure when he stopped performing the peace dance. He wasn't even completely conscious of dancing at all, his head buzzing, vision clouding. It was as though he watched someone else gliding across the ice, performing the Goddess's most sacred ritual in a common ice rink in Hasetsu.

The stranger moved with a fluidity unknown to him, his eyes alive and burning with a passionate resolve that had never greeted him from a mirror before. The stranger flashed him a grin and he knew that he couldn't stop him if he tried.

"Yuuri!" Yuko's voice broke through as he prepared for the grand finale. How long had she been screaming now? "You have to stop!"

Too late. He flew into the air, managing to get in two rotations before it happened. The world exploded around him as he tumbled to the ground, landing on his side. Large, angry cracks shot out across the ice where he landed, the glass from the overhead lights shattering everywhere before the lights themselves dimmed and went dark. The ground rumbled beneath them and he knew it was more than just the Ice Castle that had been affected.

Yuko screamed from the tech booth and he scrambled for her, kicking his skates off and fighting his way through a mess of overturned stands and ceiling panels. The computer had rebooted and it spilled luminous blue light over the tech room, helping him to recognize Yuko hiding underneath the counter, surrounded by window shards. The computer monitor died and went black as he crouched down beside her, hissing as his foot pressed into glass.

"Yuko!" He took her hands, hoping he wouldn't hurt her. The Goddess's power still buzzed through his fingers. It usually vanished the moment he left the ice…

"Yuuri…" She squeezed at his hands, her own trembling. "This is…" She gazed around at the wreckage, the remains of electricity buzzing overhead in the bursted ceiling lights, ice and glass shards scattered over the property, benches strewn everywhere. "This is…"

 _This is it_ , he realized.

This was his awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your sweet comments! I really needed them. Something terrible happened! I wrote an entire, detailed 25 chapter outline for this story. I was super proud of it. Then I merged my cloud accounts. GONE. NONEXISTENT. I was so disenchanted I considered just not continuing. But I am going to try and rebuild the outline and hopefully the story is solid enough. I'm still in grieving!


	3. The Departure

The first few days after the incident played like a scene from Yuuri's wildest dreams. His parents renamed the family onsen 'Yu-topia' and invited their neighbors to celebrate deep into the night heralding their new Primaja, "born right here! In Hasetsu!" The Nishigori triplets finger painted rather vicious pictures of him in battle with the Fire God and Yuko stared at him with so much glee and admiration that he was thankful when she threw her arms around his neck and held him tight so that she couldn't see the happy tears in his eyes. The onsen regulars all plied him with more sweets, drink and pork cutlet bowls-- a family specialty-- than Minako would ever approve of.

Ten times as many visitors frequented the onsen to give him their blessing and he, in turn, apologized profusely for the damage his awakening had caused the town. They told him not to worry about it. That the destruction was the work of the Goddess and they only hoped he would excel and make Hasetsu proud. They spoke to him with bowed heads and hushed voices. They spoke to him like a god. It frightened and thrilled him all the same, an irrepressible grin curving over his lips with every soft prayer and hearty "Congratulations!" 

He was going to the capitol. He would dance with Victor. And then he would dance for the world.

There was only one problem.

He couldn't use magic. He finally let himself think it on the third night, sitting in the dark of the foyer, the noise of his family, visitors and onsen regulars quieting with the late hour. He stared at his hands, turning them over again and again, closing his eyes and focusing, building energy. Nothing. Some part of him had hoped the Goddess would have mercy on him. That she would return his command of the element after his awakening. Unlike a dancer, a Primaja, after all, had to forge ice to keep the shrine strong. But here he sat, unable. It felt like a cruel joke. The one opportunity he would have died for and he couldn't perform. He thought of telling his family, Yuko, but everytime they greeted him with proud faces and boundless encouragement, the words solidified on his lips. He reserved them for just before bed when he kneeled until his knees bruised, begging the Goddess to return his magic to him. Asking why it'd been recanted in the first place and what measures he had to take to return it to no avail.

And then the word spread. "Katsuki Yuuri" became a household name all across Vespera and all anyone could ask was "How?"

How did this happen?

Victor Nikiforov was the current Primaja. Yuri Plisetsky had only just been deemed his successor. So how in the hell had Katsuki Yuuri just awakened?

It was the question of the hour.

“Katsuki!” A barrage of reporters from all over the land flooded Hasetsu from every entrance. They camped on the neighboring roads, made reservations at his family’s spa and followed him practically everywhere. It had been a week since he’d nearly exploded Hasetsu and the hype refused to die down. The camp of journalists surrounding the Ice Castle and his home in Hasetsu seemed to increase by the hour, the headlines and newscasts growing ever more bold with each passing day.

‘A Peek into the Life of Katsuki Yuuri— the Hasetsu Prodigy turned Primaja!’

‘The Strongest Awakening in History? The Eastland’s 5.8 Earthquake More than Just Shifting Rock’

‘Battle to the Holy Shrine: Yuri vs Yuuri’

'Katsuki Yuuri: A Threat to Nikiforov’s Legacy?'

‘The Oldest Primaja: We’ve Heard of Latebloomers but this is Ridiculous!’

Yuuri avoided them like the plague, hiding out in the studio Minako used for lessons when she was in town. He turned all of the lights off and huddled in the corner clutching his pendant and desperately ravaging through every sacred text and elemental self help book that he could get his hands on. In the end, they didn't present anything that he hadn't tried before. Meditations. Visualizing. Ice Alchemy. Healing Stones. He tossed a copy of 'Magic Implants: The New Wave of Elementals!' across the room in frustration and drove his fingers roughly through his dark bangs. He shouldn't need any of this. The Goddess had chosen him! What if one of the dozens of reporters currently scaling his home found out that he couldn't summon ice? Would the capitol refuse him? Was this just a cruel punishment the Goddess used against dancers who illegally watched forbidden rituals and then duplicated them far far from the holy soil of her shrine? He gulped. If the capitol knew, would he be exiled? 

His thoughts continued like this in a loop of fear and desperate bargaining until he could barely stand it. Of course, he had to head home eventually. Minako’s studio didn’t have a kitchen and there was only so much takeout he could order before his funds ran out and his stomach soured. So he showed up at his own back door that day, draped in as many hoodies and overcoats as he could fit into at once. Unfortunately, his disguise failed to hold up against the dozens of perceptive reporters scattered at every entryway of the Katsuki residence. He cursed to himself. They really had their bases covered.

“Katsuki Yuuri!” One particularly daring man jammed a mic in his face. “When will you be headed to the capitol?!”

“Not sure,” he mumbled, pulling his hood down as far as it would go and ducking to the side.

“Katsuki!” Another. “Have you talked yet with Victor and his successor about what this means?!”

“Have they been supportive?”

“Were they dismissive?!”

“Katsuki!”

His chest tightened. Dismissive? Why would Victor be dismissive? Why wouldn’t they be supportive? “N- No.” He waved his hands and continued to push through the crowd. “I need to get home.”

“So you haven’t even spoken with them then?” A reporter he recognized from a popular station accosted him, the glare of the sun on her glossy red lipstick dizzying. “Have they even tried to reach out to you?”

No actually… “Please!” He struggled past her, pulling his coats in tight over his neck and chin as though they would protect him. “I really need—”

A camera flashed directly in Yuuri’s eyes and his vision clouded, the mass of scrambling reporters blurring into a dark blue haze. A dull headache started in the back of his head and their words began to rush together in a frenzied chant. His heart thudded relentlessly in his chest and he realized, perhaps a bit too late, that he wasn’t breathing. Fortunately, when his legs gave out and he tumbled toward the concrete, a strong hand reached down to wrestle him by the arm.

“What do I always tell you?” A voice cut through the haze, gruff, but somehow fond. “You have to remember to breathe, Yuuri.”

“Cele…” Yuuri murmured, his throat dry. “Celestino.”

“Out of the way! All of you!” the man demanded as he pulled him to his feet, his sturdy, towering presence quickly putting space between the journalists and Yuuri. “Is this how you treat a future Primaja?!”

The reporters and cameramen dispersed slowly, their eyes trailing after Yuuri as a lion watched its prey, anxious hands gripping at their notepads and mics. Still, they obeyed, reluctant to defy an elder. Celestino was one of the four whom sat on the Goddess’s high council— the chosen representatives of the North, South, East and West. They studied the ancient teachings and laws and made certain that they were upheld. As such, their duties to the Goddess included searching for the most promising dancers— the ones who might awaken— and assisting in their training. Of the four current elders, only Celestino boasted the privilege of sharing lineage with a Primaja— his grandmother. He claimed to have an eye for the ultimate gift. Perhaps, Yuuri thought, he hadn't been wrong.

“Yuuri,” Celestino guided him past the archway, through the panel doors and into a tranquilly silent living room— not one reporter in sight. “I got in hours ago. I've been trying to call you.”

“I know. I was busy.” Yuuri bowed repeatedly as he slid the door shut. He hoped the dark circles under his eyes weren't too prominent as Celestino started toward him, the familiar warmth on his tan, weathered features calming him. He wrapped strong arms around him and Yuuri reciprocated, glad for the support after days of silence from the Goddess.

"I knew this day would come, Yuuri," Celestino gave him a squeeze. "From the moment your parents wrote the high council rambling about a frozen stuffed pig." He snickered, pulling away to slap his leg at the memory. "Any dancer wouldn't have been able to do that. Not as an infant."

“Celestino,” Yuuri crossed his arms, eyes trailing the carpet. “I've been trying... I still..." He fell down upon the sofa, hands folded as he slumped over. "I can't do it.” He paused, muscles tense, waiting for the elder's response.

“It doesn’t matter, Yuuri,” Celestino told him as he had dozens of times.  “I know what happened had its…” His lips turned down a bit. “Effects. But the Goddess’s power is still strong in you. Just because you can’t do a few parlor tricks—”

  
“Parlor tricks?!” Yuuri's head snapped upward. He pictured Victor in the wind funnel again, ice crystals appearing all around him, rising from his very essence. That wasn’t a parlor trick. “What’s a Primaja if he can’t summon the element?”

Celestino shrugged, acknowledging his point. “True.” He leaned onto the sofa as well, arms folded behind his head, long dark hair spilling over the edge. “You will need to learn to summon the ice again if you expect to become Primaja…” His eyes flitted toward the younger man. “That means you’ll need to confront your anxiety over what happened, Yuuri.”

Yuuri tensed. He felt a familiar lecture coming on.

“Which means?” Celestino pressed.

“Breathing,” he recited, remembering and taking in a deep breath.

Celestino chuckled, patting him lightly on the back. “Don’t worry about it. You'll have the best mentors in the capitol. There's the Westlands elder, Yakov Feltsman. And you'll be working under Victor of course.”

“Victor?” Yuuri whispered, the elated feeling from just days ago rising in his chest again. He pictured practicing spins and jumps with Victor. Him watching Victor live in person. Victor watching _him_. But then... A glimpse of blond flashed through his mind. Victor still had to coach Yuri Plisetsky- the 14-year-old prodigy so skilled with the element that they called him the Ice Tiger. And here Yuuri was, 23 and unable to perform.

"Do you..." Yuuri frowned and turned to his mentor to gauge his expression. "Do you think the Goddess makes mistakes?"

“Yuuri…” Celestino eyed him with concern.

“Oh Yuuri!” His mother’s soft, sing-song tone floated into the room and he glanced up to see his family standing at the threshold between the living area and the kitchen. Had they been there the whole time? He struggled to gather himself as his mother plopped down before him, dusting at the shoulders of his windbreaker and cradling his cheeks. "You look like you haven't slept in days!"

“There’s already a Primaja…” Yuuri managed to go on through squished cheeks. “And a successor.”

  
“Sometimes the Goddess’s ultimate gift is too much for just one person,” Celestino shrugged. “It’s not the first time two Primaja have awakened around the same time.”

“Yeah.” Mari crossed her arms as she settled down on the opposite arm chair, a scowl twisting her features. “And they nearly killed each other.”

“What?!” Yuuri squeaked, the color seeping from his face.

“Nanci Kerrian and Tonia Hardyn,” Mari went on. “They both wanted to be the one and only. Hated each other so much, one of them almost didn’t make it to retirement.”

Yuuri suddenly felt a coolness numbing over his skin. He remembered the headlines he’d read the other day. The reporter’s question from earlier.

_‘Battle to the Holy Shrine: Yuri vs Yuuri’_

_'Yuuri Katsuki: A Threat to Nikiforov’s Legacy?_

_Have they been supportive?_

_Dismissive?_

Of course Victor would be supportive. Wasn’t he always gracious and smiling with his fans? Hadn’t he been patient and encouraging in his interviews with Plisetsky— no matter how insufferable? And Plisetsky… An image of the boy’s permanent scowl resurfaced and he bit his lip.

“Maybe you should reconsider this Yuuri.” Mari told him, all the while eying Celestino as if daring him to challenge her. Yuuri's eyes widened. His older sister had been more standoffish than the rest over the past week, but he'd contributed it to Mari just being Mari. He hadn't dreamed of her discouraging him.

“Mari…” Their mother chided gently, hands finally dropping from Yuuri’s cheeks and squeezing at her own fingers. “You know they wouldn’t let him if he tried.”

“Once the Goddess calls a Primaja, he has to go.” His father shot him an encouraging, but almost apologetic grin. His parents put on a cheerful act, but they always worried over him at least a little when he went on pilgrimages. He hadn’t considered the effect his awakening might have on them or Mari.

“It’s a big risk, Yuuri,” Mari pressed the matter regardless, her gaze now a laser on her little brother. Yuuri stiffened under it, feeling five years old again.

“Nikiforov is like a son to Elder Feltsman. He’s got the council in his pocket.” She sighed. “And you can’t tell me that Plisetsky kid doesn’t play dirty. If it comes down to them or you—”

“It won’t.” Celestino stood and the atmosphere of the room changed abruptly. He let the words sit before continuing in a calm, even tone. “The council would never allow that. And even if certain members can’t be trusted, _I_ would not allow it.” He turned to face Yuuri who found himself unconsciously nodding. Celestino supported him for as long as he could remember. He had no doubt that he would do the same in the capitol.

“I’ll check in with him regularly and make certain that he is protected at all times,” he finished, smiling suddenly. “In fact, I’ve began commissioning a guard for you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri let out a tiny breath of surprise. Of course. His very own guard. Every Primaja had one. A group of fighters or dancers skilled in elemental combat designated to protect him and him alone.

“I’ve already picked the captain. You’ll recognize the name.” Celestino winked. “Chulanont.”

“Phichit?!” Yuuri couldn't stop the name from bubbling excitedly from his lips. Phichit of the Southlands was probably the closest thing to a best friend he'd known since Yuko's marriage. They'd met when traveling through the North from town to town to join in praise with other dancers. It marked Phichit's first pilgrimage and Yuuri's third. Neither of them had many friends on the trail. Yuuri never mastered the art of making them easily and Phichit was fresh to the scene. Naturally they drew to one another. Or rather, Phichit wouldn't stop talking to him and his introversion failed to sabotage their budding friendship. Always warm and glowing with optimism, Phichit made it difficult not to be friends with him. He encouraged the best in Yuuri and Yuuri tried to do the same for him, despite their differences.

  
Unlike Yuuri and his dreams of awakening and strengthening the walls of the shrine, Phichit's interests centered more on warrior dances and the elemental aspects of his gift. Parlor tricks as Celestino had called them. Yuuri nodded to himself, glad that Phichit had finally found a niche that allowed him to practice what he loved.

"He'll meet you at the capitol station as soon as you arrive," Celestino continued. “Phichit spends a lot of time in the capitol nowadays so you'll have a familiar face to show you around."

For the first time in days, a genuine grin spread out over Yuuri's lips, his chest thudding with anticipation again rather than fear.

"So what do you say, Yuuri?" Celestino offered his hand. “You ready?"

He could feel his parents' eyes on him, hear their breaths catching in the backs of their throats. Mari's disapproving scowl bored into the side of his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before grasping Celestino firmly by the hand, his eyes sparking with determination.

"I'm ready."

"Well... Katsuki Yuuri of the Eastlands, The Hasetsu Prodigy,” Celestino beamed down at him with a familiar encouragement and a new pride. “The next Primaja.”

Yuuri's cheeks reddened, but his resolve did not dissuade.

"You better start packing."

* * *

 

 It took a week for Yuuri to pack. Not because he owned so much or even felt the need to take it all with him, but because of the countless moments in which he paused, laid down on his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling telling himself, "This isn't really happening." It was a dream. A dream that lasted for several days now. A coma, perhaps. Had he had any falls recently? Some days, he bounced off of the walls with elation, his joy so immense that he couldn't stop moving and thinking and planning. He wrote stories in his head, stories of meeting Victor and dancing and strolling the corridors of the Winter Palace. Others he danced until his feet bled, trying desperately to summon the ice. Afterwards, he wrote letters to the council apologizing, listing off the dozens of excuses for why he couldn't possibly embark on this journey. His parents needed help running the spa. His sister didn’t approve. A stomach bug. Several times, his finger hovered over Celestino's contact in his phone with the intention of begging him to call the whole thing off. If anyone could convince the rest of the council, it was him.

But Yuuri could never bring himself to send the letters or make the calls. Not when, no matter how much fretting he'd done the night before, he woke with a smile every morning because his wildest dream had literally come true. Not after Hasetsu's citizens graciously presented he and his family with so many gifts— trinkets and baubles, baskets of capitol greenhouse grade fruit— even after his awakening had nearly decimated their property. Not after chatting endlessly with Phichit over the phone about the beautiful architecture of the worship sites they would visit in the capitol and the unique slew of restaurants and bars they could frequent during their downtime. Definitely not after he performed his final farewell dance at a half dilapidated Ice Castle for all of Hasetsu to see-- an event he'd agreed to headline in hopes of raising money to repair the rink. As the crowd rose in a standing ovation, his skin tingled underneath the sheen of sweat and the soft cerulean of his dancer's robes. Their loud enthusiasm jolted through him, revitalizing and electric. He'd never felt more alive than he did in that moment with the coolness of the ice on his damp skin, his breath coming in gasps.

"YUURI!" Yuko leapt up and down from somewhere in the stands, nearly ripping the giant poster she and her family held, 'WE LOVE YOU YUURI!' printed in large, blue type.

Nearby, another read 'HASETSU NEEDS YOU!'.

Tears burned in his eyes, and with a quivering grin, he extended one fist to the sky. The audience went wild.

Hasetsu-- the brilliant white dot in a sea of red. It would never be claimed by fire. He would protect these people with his life.

He carried that thought with him and it gave him strength that did not waver until the last day standing on the platform at Hasetsu's main station, steam trains howling in the backdrop as they traveled through out the East. The winds rushed high that day and he felt a bit silly all bundled up in preparation for the capitol's weather, blue and grey scarves swarming like snakes all around his head. To make matters worse, onlookers gathered around him to get a final peek at Hasetsu's Primaja before he headed off to the capitol. He'd tried to keep his going away a more private affair, but it seemed he couldn't keep much private at all nowadays...

"Katsuki!" A voice he recognized called him and he turned to see the same female reporter who’d accosted him last week, her lips deep red again, hair black as night. "Why haven't you been using ice magic in your performances?"

He froze, his mouth going dry.

"Wouldn't the next Primaja want to show that off?"

"Um..." he croaked. “I— I just—“

Someone promptly pulled him away from the woman and further down the platform into a pair of warm, fluffy arms.

"Mom!" he choked from within her all consuming embrace, barely making out his father's mild mannered grin from over her shoulder. "Dad!"

"Yuuri!" His mother patted at his cheeks. "You won't mind what those reporters say will you?!"

"Huh?!" He blinked, still engrossed in the journalist’s words. "N- no! Of course not!”

"Yuuri..." She embraced him again, lightly this time before looking up, her gaze sobering a bit— a detour from its usual lightheartedness. "We want you to remember that we do love you. No matter what." She ran her hands over his shoulders and smiled. "You know that, right?"

  
He smiled down on her, his cheeks glowing red as Nishigori and several other onlookers spouted, “Awwwwww!"s and “Mama’s boy!”s.

"Of course I know that, mom." He eyed her with a look that clearly stated, 'I love you, but please stop.'

"Good." She adjusted the pendant, her childhood gift to him, around his neck and gave the trinket at its base a squeeze. “We're so proud of you, Yuuri."

His father nodded in agreement and Yuuri covered his mother's hand with his own, a new courage invigorating him.

When they'd moved away, a rather peeved looking Mari took their place.

"Last chance to drop out, kid," she told him, pulling her trenchcoat tighter around her to avoid the wind, a cigarette smoking between her fingers.

He shrugged with a smile. "Nah."

Mari took a drag from the cigarette. "Well, I still don't support it." She exhaled with a sigh before eying him directly, her gaze softening a bit. "Remember that won't you, Yuuri?"

"Yuuri!" Yuko swung her arms around his neck before he could respond to his sister and held on tightly. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Yuko." He steadied himself his lips curling upward as he stared down at her. "I- I really appreciate-"

 "Hey!"  Nishikori caught him in a headlock. "I can't believe this little shrimp is all grown up and presenting as Primaja." He gave him a squeeze and Yuuri sputtered. "You gonna save us all, Yuuri?"

Yuuri laughed nervously, attempting to pry his way out of the headlock when Lutz, Axel and Loop leapt up, clinging to the ends of his coat.

"Will you tell the Goddess we said hi, Yuuri?!"

"And the kick the Fire God in the nuts!"

"AXEL!" Yuko glowered over them.

"Make sure to send us a video of _you_ at the shrine too!" Lutz finished the onslaught and Yuuri paled. He turned to confront a steaming Yuko.

"You showed them?" he croaked.

"NO!" Her delicate features went livid. "HOW DID YOU FIND THAT, YOU LITTLE—“

The girls went on about some automatic drive copying software and he started to ask if they'd made any copies when he noticed a pair of eyes staring at him intensely from the very edge of the platform. He'd encountered many stares that day, but this one differed. This one exposed, penetrated. It burned.

He tore his own gaze from those glittering eyes to notice the crimson streak in the boy's hair. He stiffened. A popular mark of a firestarter. He noticed that the boy froze too, perhaps knowing that he'd been caught and identified, but he made no move to escape. Was he being subversive? Trying to intimidate him? Perhaps he should alert someone?

He nearly gasped when the boy's lips moved and started to speak. However, before he could get a word out, a hand caught him by the wrist.

"Minami!" It's owner scolded roughly, immediately dragging him off of the platform and behind the stairs. Yuuri unconsciously moved that way to the more vacant area of the platform, his neck arching, trying to catch a final glimpse of the mysterious firestarter, but they had vanished.

"What the hell?" he whispered, fingers smoothing through his bangs. Strange. Followers of the Fire God knew they weren't welcome here... "Minami..."

"Yuuri!"

He nearly jumped, spinning around reflexively. His eyes went wide.

"Minako!" His dance teacher and the former Primaja approached him, her long hair swirling in the wind. She grinned at him and he noticed the area beneath her eyes wrinkling a bit more than usual. The journey to Hasetsu from wherever she'd come from had been taxing no doubt. "You didn't have to come! You could have met me at the capitol!" He sniffed the air around her, a peculiar scent. His eyes narrowed. "Have you been drinking again?"

"Shut up!" Minako rolled her eyes before throwing her arms around his neck, giving him a good whiff of sake. "I just wanted to come see my favorite student off personally."

"Your favorite student?" He blinked as they parted, something tipping in his chest, a blend of the varying emotions he'd been swept through over the past two weeks. "You're drunk. You can't mean that."

"Of course I mean it, Yuuri." She squeezed at his shoulder. "I'm so proud of you." Her eyes glazed over and she bit her lip.

He tensed the muscles in his face in a weak effort, but the tears fell anyway and before he knew it, he had embraced her again, sobs wracking his shoulders. He felt shocked, anxious, confused and so scared that he could barely take it. But mostly, he was happy. He'd awakened, he was on his way to the capitol to dance with Victor, he'd made the people he cared about so proud of him it moved them to tears and he was so, so happy.

"Minako," he managed, sobbing and smiling uncontrollably at the same time. The reporters would have a field day with this. "Thank you so much for everything. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Yuuri..." She patted gently at his back. "Don't thank me."

"Sir!" The conductor poked his head out of the second car. "We 're about to head out. Your car is ready!"

"Sir?" Yuuri blinked, the remnants of tears sticking to his eyelashes. "My car?"

  
"You'd better get used to that." Minako snickered as she dressed his hair, tucking rogue tendrils behind his ears only to have the wind disarray them once again. "Try to stay humble, Yuuri."

"I'm always humble," he smiled. They locked eyes again and, for a split second, she appeared as she did when attempting to adequately critique his dance performances, her lips pursed, brows knitted in thought.

"What is it?" he chuckled. It was usually his job to look entirely too serious.

She considered him for a moment, their hair and scarves whipping in the wind around them. The conductor called again and she shook her head.

"Nothing." She squeezed his hand and smiled. "You'll be amazing, Yuuri. Just make sure you're ready."

He nodded turning to go, but she held fast to his hand.

"And remember you still have to practice!" she chided as he attempted to continue toward the train car, yanking in vain to relieve his hand. "Don't eat too much junk! Do your breathing exercises and meditations!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know Minako!" he sighed, growing self conscious again, cameras flashing all around them. Her grip started to ease up, letting him loose to the roaring crowd, his parents and the Nishigoris waving ardently from the front line when suddenly, her fingers tightened once more around his.

"And Yuuri?"

He turned back to beg her to let him go, but the look she gave him iced the words on his lips.

"Be careful." She whispered, eyes solemn, and with a gentle squeeze, she finally let his hand fall to his side.


	4. The Capitol

Yuuri’s journey to the capitol city was not a short one. He couldn’t avoid this fact no matter how many trendy magazines and intriguing novels littered the freshly lacquered wood paneling of his private train car. The outside scenery helped at first, presenting the slow transition from the blustery, snow sheeted plains of the Eastlands— patches of black, cracked earth scattered about the terrain— to the hilly midlands of the North and South, nothing but glittering mounds of frost for miles. Occassionally, he spotted the flicker of lights from some far off town or a grizzly bear stalking about its element, but even these lost their appeal before long. Yuuri spent the hours drawing into himself, pondering a life in the capitol and his preparedness for it. He thought about his new home in the Winter Palace, exploring its rumored secret caverns and corridors. He thought about his family, Yuko and the life he'd left behind. About Victor. How would he greet him? What would he say?

 _Hi, I’m Katsuki Yuuri. I’ve been watching you for years._ He cringed. Way too creepy. 

 _Hi, I’m Katsuki Yuuri. The next Primaja._ Too conceited.

 _Hi, I’m Katsuki Yuuri. It’s an honor to meet you._ He smiled. That was simple enough. Yuuri curled into himself upon the plush cot, adrenaline rushing through his veins so fiercely he could barely stand it. This was actually happening.

When his brain short circuited from overthinking and his limbs screamed at him for motion, he went to stand outside on the deck, watching the evergreens collect fallen snow. As they moved further along, the wind chill increased and the temperature dropped. The train staff brought him heated blankets and warm teas.

On his last night, beyond the quiet, snowy landscape, he noticed a rippling aurora gleaming hypnotizing mists of green, pink and blue as it billowed in the sky, dancing just for him.

* * *

 

It was early morning when he stepped onto the platform of the Capitol Station, his knees weak from inactivity, but restless with pent up anticipation. He’d drawn a second coat from his luggage, beige and lined with the thickest wool, to pull over his first. It was freezing.

The train obscuring his view on the opposite side of the platform began to pull out of the station and the scene that took its place caught his breath. Photography of Glacilis— the capitol city— appeared frequently in everything from newspapers to film, but nothing he’d seen previously could adequately capture what lay before him now. The capitol suffered no absence of the land’s usual ice and snow, but it did embrace it more readily than any town Yuuri had ever visited. The ice sparkled like emerald and sapphire jewels, from the gleaming pale green pathways on the ground to the soaring sculptures erected throughout the city, the hands of elders and Primaja past touching the sky. Round domed buildings with colorful mosaics cluttered in circular communities where children sledded and skated in outdoor rinks and upon glistening hilltops. Only the paths and walkways constructed throughout the city were free of ice and they all led to its center where the mountains stood the tallest. Beyond them, he knew, cradled in their heart sat the forbidden valley where the Primaja danced. Where the Fire God resided, frozen in frost and obsidian, his prison’s icy chains rising high above the mountains with tendrils spiked and swarming like crossing snakes. Yuuri felt a chill pass through him and he knew it had nothing to do with the cold. He would dance there one day.

“Excuse me, sir,” a voice addressed him from behind and he blinked, snapping out of the spell the city had cast on him. “I’m here to escort you to the Winter Palace.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed, something in the tone sparking recognition. He suddenly placed the voice and his lips turned up.

“Phichit!” He spun around to see the warm, familiar grin, heart leaping. They started toward one another and had barely embraced when Phichit held up his phone.

“Say cheese!”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, but grinned into the flash all the same. Apparently Phichit’s new lifestyle as a warrior dancer hadn’t interfered with his selfie habit.

“So,” Yuuri pulled away examining his friend in his new uniform, black slacks and a black, high collared jacket with silvery trim. “The Capitol Military.”

“So,” Phichit raised an eyebrow. “Primaja!”

Yuuri blushed, scratching at the back of his head. “Yeah…” The wind picked up and he cradled himself. “Is it always this cold?”

“Yup.” Phichit laughed. “You get used to it after a while. You just have to dress for it, Yuuri.”

Yuuri grimaced. Wasn’t two coats enough?

“Come on!” Phichit took him by the hand, leading him further down the cobblestoned, thoroughly sanded platform. “As my first order as the head of your guard,” He held up a finger officially. “I’m going to buy you breakfast!”

Yuuri’s features softened, his thoughts wandering back to Minako’s lectures about his weight and all those ‘celebratory’ pork cutlet bowls he’d had before he left Hasetsu. “Aw, Phichit. You don’t have to!”

Phichit hushed him. “Please Yuuri. You’ve had to survive on train food for the past few days. And besides,” He winked. “I know you like to eat!”

Yuuri started to respond before silencing with a sheepish grin. He supposed he couldn’t argue with that.

They reached the base of the mountain that supported the Capitol Station by motorized sled, something Yuuri had never experienced and wasn’t keen on experiencing again any time soon.

“Are you okay, Yuuri?” Phichit had asked when he stumbled off of the vehicle, too dizzy to navigate properly, but not wanting to remain seated in the thing a moment longer.

“Y- Yeah, fine…” He teetered aimlessly along the cobbled walkway, letting the wind bully him in several opposing directions before Phichit caught him by the arm and led him toward their destination, a quaint little inn and diner with a wood shingled roof, a smoking chimney and the best food that Yuuri had ever tasted.

“The fruit is all grown in the greenhouses just outside of the city,” Phichit explained gleefully as he watched Yuuri wolf down another berry and cream filled crepe. “Rumor is, they use chemicals. But I don’t care if they make them taste this delicious!”

“Mm!” Yuuri agreed through a mouthful of batter and fruit.

Phichit giggled, snapping a random picture and Yuuri was too occupied to be annoyed at him for it.

“So how long have you been with the military?” he managed after swallowing the pastry down.

“Just a little under a year now, but I’m moving quickly through the ranks!” Phichit explained excitedly.

Yuuri nodded with a grin. He’d be surprised if Phichit hadn’t excelled. Despite his sunny disposition, he was never one to take lightly. Whenever Yuuri reached out to him, he caught him on pilgrimage or at the rink. No one he knew worked harder.

“Before Celestino called me, I worked directly under Captain Giacometti.”

Yuuri’s attention perked, recognizing the name immediately.

“Victor’s head guard.” Phichit nodded. “And military maestro. We’re going to meet up with him later.” He smiled. “You’ll like him!"

Yuuri wondered if Victor would be there too.

“So Primaja!” Phichit leaned forward, brown eyes gleaming. “Wow Yuuri!”

“I know…” A goofy smile broke over his lips and then vanished just as quickly, his gut lurching. He suddenly lost interest in the pile of crepes before him, instead leaning further across the tabletop, gaze dropping to the wood there. “Phichit, I've tried everything and I still can't…” He quickly scanned the diner for open ears and curious eyes before turning back to his friend, eyes dead serious. “I can’t forge ice! I haven’t been able to in years!”

Phichit gaped at him. "It didn't come back after your awakening?"

"No," Yuuri almost moaned, his head sinking between his arms.

"Well," Phichit paused for a moment and then a soft smile spread over his lips. "It’ll be okay, Yuuri,” he told him calmly. “I’m sure Elder Feltsman will be able to help! And Victor’s always really nice.” He shot him a knowing grin and Yuuri flushed, his heart somersaulting in his chest.

“Y— Yeah,” he stammered. “And maybe Plisetsky will be a lot of help too.” It came out as more of a question than he meant.

Phichit cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in the fireplace across the way. “Oh, he’s a lot alright.”

Yuuri swallowed hard, following Phichit’s gaze to the fireplace. "It's there. I just need to find it again before anyone finds out." His fists clenched in determination. "The media got so close..." He remembered the pale woman with red lips on his last day at the train station, dark eyes piercing through him as if she already knew the answer to her question. What would have happened if his parents hadn't pulled him away? Just the thought of it gave him chills and he cradled himself for comfort. It was fine. He was in the capitol now, far, far away from the huddle of thirsty journalists jamming their equipment in his face and invading his home and privacy. He gave a tired sigh as he leaned back against the chair, a relieved grin slipping over his lips. "I never want to talk to another reporter again."

Phichit blinked, his grin toppling a centimeter or so. "Yeah... about that..."

Yuuri blinked, not at all pleased with the sudden mood shift. “Hm?”

Phichit grinned nervously. “Are you sure you don’t want a mimosa?”

* * *

Yuuri spent the entire carriage ride pale and rigid, too concerned with his inner turmoil to bother marveling at the towering ice statues or the impressive outdoor rinks and worship sites that Phichit attempted to point out. By the time they’d reached the gates of the Winter Palace, his new home and former home of every Primaja before him, he’d entered a nearly comatose state. Phichit and the carriage men practically dragged him along the ice column lined pathway and through the gate, snow catching around the heels of his boots. They nudged him through the lofty silver plated archway of the palace and past a heavy, iron door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that the massive estate was the most breathtaking he’d ever seen. The front of his mind was screaming.

“Phichit!” he cried, finally finding his voice, tears creeping at the edges of his lids as they guided him into a cramped room where several onlookers peered at him questioningly— tools and garments in their perfectly manicured hands. Cosmetics and menswear, he realized. “Why did you spring this on me?! What if they ask about..." His eyes darted about the room at the confused cosmetics artists. "You know!”

“Yuuri,” Phichit gave a timid laugh, relieving him of both his coats. “I know how you get when you’re nervous.” He yanked upward at the ends of his sweater, motioning for him to lift his arms above his head. Bewildered, Yuuri let him pull the shirt off. “You would have worried about it the whole train ride! And Celestino will do most of the talking!”

Yuuri struggled not to hyperventilate as he stood shirtless, a well groomed woman in a short fur jacket and long skirts appearing at his side with several powders and brushes.

“Are you sure you don’t want that drink?” Phichit pulled a flask from his satchel.

“Me doing a press conference drunk?” Yuuri whined, tears inching past his lids to the chagrin of the makeup artist. The reporters wouldn't even need much interrogation. He'd do their job for them. “You know how I get when I drink!”

“Good point,” Phichit noted, putting the flask away and squeezing reassuringly at his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Yuuri. Just breathe, okay?”

Yuuri resented the advice immediately. He’d been in the capitol not even a few hours and the media was already breathing down his neck. Did they usually hold press conferences so soon? What if they asked him about his elemental prowess? What if they asked him to perform?! He felt fingers rummaging about his hair and he nearly flinched away. “I- If someone asks-"

  
“You don't have to answer,” Phichit advised, adjusting a white button up shirt around his shoulders and sealing the clasps quickly. He reached for a dark blue blazer and a cerulean tie. “Just be discreet about it! Try not to look nervous.”

Yuuri’s heart thudded mercilessly. Did he remember who he was talking to? How many times had he flubbed a dance move during a performance due to nerves? He leaned forward, his hair now perfectly coifed back, unable to serve as a curtain for his eyes. He covered his face with his hands instead, the anxiety roiling through his chest and whipping up through his pores, setting his skin afire.

“It’ll be over before you know it, Yuuri.” They were leading him out of the cramped quarters now and into a spacious room where the ceilings towered overhead, decorated with diamond and silver engravings and crystal chandeliers. Capitol officials rushed about the marble floors, all appearing as though they had somewhere important to be. Two sprawling staircases stood at each end of the room leading to an upper landing. An empty seat awaited him at the center. Celestino smiled at him and waved from the seat beside it. A group of officials of some sort huddled about the chairs. Reporters, he realized. They spoke among themselves, lively with anticipation for the upcoming event. Only one remained silent, staring at him from across the hall. Pale skin. Red lips. His nerves flared.

“Is it too late to reschedule?” he asked, hating the high-pitched tone of his voice.

His new entourage and Phichit only continued to nudge him along and their nonchalance began to aggravate him. He at least needed a moment to formally prepare and he couldn't do that with her eyes on him like lasers. Ducking down, he slipped from their grasp, hoping to find a lonely corner or alcove of the room to organize his scattered thoughts. In his desperate search and the frenzy of the crowd, he tripped over the base of a pillar, one foot landing awkwardly. He stumbled forward, crashing into something solid and nearly topping over. When the solid object narrowly side stepped to avoid further collision, Yuuri realized that he had bumped into someone rather than something.

“I’m so sorry!” He immediately fell into a bow, his hands clasped together. “I didn’t mean to! Are y-”

He cut off abruptly, registering the expression on the other's face. Cloaked beneath a curtain of blond shone soft, delicate features twisted with pure disdain. The boy's pale green eyes seared into him without mercy, a malicious curl on his upper lip. Yuuri gasped, his shoulders straightening up, and backed away as if struck.

Yuri Plisetsky. The Ice Tiger. Infamously ferocious despite his small frame and graceful appearance. Yuuri had his doubts about just how ferocious, but here in the flesh, he couldn’t deny it. There was something intensely fiery about the boy for the chosen of an Ice Goddess.

As if sensing his apprehension, Yuri stepped forward, the edge of his deep purple hood brushing against Yuuri’s nose. “Have you been crying?” he asked, the cadence of his voice anything but concerned, a crooked sneer twisting over his lips.

“Um,” Yuuri gulped. “I, um…” His feet wouldn’t move so he searched his peripheral, seeking some respite from the conflict. He found a man standing barely a meter away donning the same black guards dress Phichit wore. Yuuri focused on him, eyes begging him for assistance, but the man simply scowled back, his arms folded over his broad chest, features stone cold without a sliver of sympathy.

“Look at him, Otabek,” Yuri commanded, eyes trailed him up and down, nose wrinkled in disgust. “Have you ever seen anything more pathetic?”

The guard nodded in acknowledgement, his emotionless dark eyes swallowing Yuuri like a black void. Adrenaline sent his nerves into overdrive and his feet finally began cooperating. “I— I’m just gonna—”

“Listen fatass,” Yuri lurched forward on tiptoes, his forehead nearly impacting with Yuuri’s nose, a move that would have been comical perhaps if his anxiety wasn't past its boiling point. “We don’t need an extra Primaja,” he growled. “And we sure as hell don’t need two Yuris.”

Yuuri began to feel lightheaded, his breath lodged somewhere in the back of his throat.

“So fuck off!” the boy spat in his face, his tone increasing significantly in volume. A couple of onlookers shot sideways glances at them as they hurried across the floors before going on about their business. Yuuri wondered if this type of thing was commonplace here.

“Yuri…” They both turned to see a fourth person approaching their party in long, flowing black coats, their hands on their hips, head cocked in reproach. “Are you harassing the new Yuuri?”

Yuri’s features hardened, his glare now directed at the newcomer. “What’s it to you, Mila?”

The girl with flaming red hair simply grinned in response, her deep blue eyes calm as she reached down to grasp the blond at his thigh and shoulders, hoisting him up over her head.

“Mila!” Yuri floundered, limbs waving recklessly. “Put me down!”

“Is that any way to talk to your head guard?” she asked sweetly though Yuuri could tell by the curve of her lips that she enjoyed his struggle. “Do you think its easy keeping a brat like you out of trouble?”

“PUT ME DOWN, WITCH!”

“What’s that?” she asked, suspending her hold on him for a second so that he fell a good half a meter before catching him again. Yuri yelped and Mila shot a secret wink at Yuuri. He couldn’t help but grin appreciatively.

“What the fuck are you laughing at, pig?!” Yuri clawed at him from her hold before twisting around to face Otabek who’d been leaning against a marble pillar the entire time, a vaguely amused expression on his face. “Do something!”

“He’s my subordinate.” Mila grinned, ice beginning to sprout and vine from her palms, encircling Yuri’s ankles and torso. “Do you want him terminated?”

Yuri let out a wail of frustration, feet kicking in every direction, fists pumping high.

“Go ahead, Yuuri,” Mila nodded at him with an encouraging smile as she teetered slightly to the side. “I can’t hold this one forever.”

Yuuri blinked at the struggle for a few moments before finding his agency again, but only barely. With a few trembling steps, he willed himself to wobble away, feeling Yuri’s gaze scorching into the back of his suit as wandered about the palace floors going nowhere in particular. So Plisetsky did actually feel threatened by him. Or maybe he could sense his weakness? Did he know? Yuuri stared at the tiny light grey veins of the marble at his feet, fingers curled together in a tight knot. Whatever the boy thought, he was technically right. The capitol didn’t need another Primaja. Especially one who couldn't summon the element.

“Yuuri!” Two heavy hands fell on his shoulders and before he could register it, they dragged him backwards toward the far right staircase, its blood red carpeting resisting the friction of his shoes as he desperately sank his heels into it.

“Celestino…” he muttered weakly.

The man patted him heartily on the back as they took their positions seated before the group of journalists, all vigilant as hawks and twice as hungry. He cringed. Perhaps he should have taken Phichit up on that drink.

“Don’t worry,” Celestino chuckled at his ashen appearance. “Just let me do most of the talking.”

Not surprisingly, this worked. Celestino seemed to be very practiced at doing “most of the talking”. He bragged on Yuuri. On his gift’s early appearance and his dedicated career as a dancer. On his humble beginnings in Hasetsu, the troubled little town in the far East. He made Yuuri out to be an unlikely hero, an underdog with newly discovered power. The modest dancer turned Primaja who would save his people. The steadily gathering audience seemed to buy it, nodding and marveling at him as though he were some rare creature full of tricks and wonders. He lowered his head to the steel tabletop. Little did they know…

The reporters were civil for the most part and Yuuri had no doubt that the presence of an elder had something to do with it. They asked easy, predictable questions, not even approaching his lack of elemental showmanship. The pale female journalist remained silent throughout, only scribbling at her notepad between intervals and chatting casually with the cameraman. Yuuri could almost relax when, somewhere, in the back of his mind, he registered that they were supposed to be taking questions now.

“Hello gentlemen,” A short, meek man began hesitantly before the mic. “Katsuki’s awakening was recorded as one of the most severe in history. Is it possible that the Goddess will call him to the shrine before Plisetsky?”

A rush of murmuring started among the crowd and Yuuri felt his chest tighten. He hadn't even considered it a possibility. Yuri Plisetsky had been training with Victor for a longer period than him, but it was true: Yuuri's awakening was stronger and he was older. Was it so unfathomable that he could be summoned to the shrine first? He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Plisetsky already had it out for him. He couldn’t imagine what the boy would do if he were named Primaja first. As if he’d summoned him by thought, he caught the familiar green gaze among the crowd, seething. Hateful. Yuri’s guard, the man named Otabek, stood directly behind him whispering something into his ear. Plans for Yuuri's assassination perhaps? He thought back to his sister's warning.

_You can't tell me that Plisetsky kid doesn't play dirty._

Celestino didn’t seem to notice this exchange.

“Possibly,” Celestino answered the reporter with a conceited shrug. “But regardless of who the Goddess calls first, the three chosen will work together as a team!”

 _Have you tried telling Yuri Plisetsky that?_ Yuuri thought bitterly.

“Yuuri will begin his training with Plisetsky and Nikiforov tomorrow,” Celestino finished and Yuuri nearly choked. He spun around to face his mentor, eyes wide. “Tomorrow?!”

“Katsuki Yuuri!” A second reporter called and he could barely register the sound over the blood pounding in his ears. This was all happening so fast. Too fast. He became hyperaware of his breathing and how it strained in his lungs, constricting it even more. He had to focus on something else. His eyes began scanning the room frantically. Blood red lips. Definitely not. Something else. He scanned. Yuri Plisetsky’s death glare. Yikes. He scanned. Striking aqua blue eyes. He froze, his mind going blank.

Victor.

  
The Primaja watched him from one of the winding feet of the marble staircase as though it were nothing. As though Yuuri could easily recover from seeing him there, silver tresses falling over his eyes as they gazed attentively up at him— him! Yuuri! Victor’s chin rested atop long, slender fingers, elbows planted on the marble rail. He was stunning, even in the loose v-neck shirt and plain grey slacks. Yuuri felt as though the chair beneath him had evaporated, as though he floated somewhere in a vacuum between reality and the space between Victor’s eyes. His throat dried quickly, blood pumping harder than ever. Black mist seemed to obscure and fall across every person, every towering column, every _thing_ in the hall, dulling it out until only Victor remained untouched in perfect clarity.

“Katsuki?” A voice prodded at him from the backdrop and he realized it had repeated itself more than once now. Celestino nudged him and the black mist fell away, immersing him back into striking reality. He realized Victor’s expression had changed, one amused eyebrow arching upward.

“C— Can you repeat the question?” Yuuri managed to stammer into the mic.

“Sure,” the man said, a bit impatient now. “I’m doing a profile piece for the Capitol Letter and I was wondering if you could tell us what your favorite dish is? Perhaps a Hasetsu delicacy?” He smiled encouragingly.

“Well… um…” Yuuri started, eyes disobediently wandering back to Victor, whose brow still arched ever so curiously at him. Why was he looking at him like that? Probably because he wasn’t saying anything… He had to say something! Victor would have said something by now! He clenched his fists in resolve. Say something! Anything! For Victor! “Victor!” he forced out the first thing on his mind, catching himself a beat too late. He clasped his hands over his lips.

“Victor?” The crowd began to murmur among themselves, confusion showing plainly on their faces. At the foot of the stairs, those icy blue eyes had gone wide.

  
Yuuri gasped. “N— No!” He had to fix this. What was the question again?! Oh yes! “PORK CUTLET BOWLS!” he wrestled the mic and boomed into it, serious as a heart attack. “I LOVE PORK CUTLET BOWLS!”

The crowd began to snicker and his heart hammered hopelessly. Somewhere, spiteful raucous laughter howled and Yuuri dug his shoes so harshly into the carpet that he might have ripped it. Plisetsky. He dared to glance back at Victor whose surprise had transformed into a soft smile, amused but endearing. Yuuri's heart melted.

“Yuuri’s a bit tired! He’s had a long journey from the Eastlands,” Celestino continued to explain away his mental weakness and Yuuri let him, glad to have an excuse to escape. As soon as Celestino finished his spiel, Yuuri stood and gave a curt bow to the audience before turning on his heel and heading directly through a pair of double doors into a corridor unknown. He refused to descend the staircase into the crowd he’d just humiliated himself in front of. What if he ran into Plisetsky again? Or worse, Victor?! He shook his head as he continued down the hall, staring absentmindedly outside of the towering windows, the glitter of the ice and snow beneath the sun blinding.

He’d seen Victor for the first time in person… and made a fool of himself. He buried his head in his hands, fingers tearing through the gel and the stylist’s manipulations until his dark bangs draped over his eyes again. Victor must have thought he was a complete head case now! What if he refused to train him? Despite their lighthearted interview spats, he and Plisetsky seemed close enough. If the boy got into his head—

He gasped suddenly, catching a figure emerging at the very end of the hall where the windows ended and shadows played. The whites of Yuuri’s eyes expanded, his hands falling slowly from his bangs.

Victor ascended the staircase, the soft, cream colored material of his shirt brushing lightly against the marble. He looked every bit as beautiful as in the grand hall, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. The friendly expression that Yuuri had become so accustomed to seeing in interviews and performances had seeped away completely, leaving his eyes jarringly vacant and cold. They settled on Yuuri directly and he felt a chill pass through him.

“Um..” Yuuri started, his voice wavering slightly.

_Hi. I’m Yuuri Katsuki. It’s an honor to meet you._

He attempted to move his lips, but the act proved particularly cumbersome so he dipped into a bow instead, hoping for Victor to make the next move. He focused intensely on the pristine white tiles of the corridor floor, waiting, but nothing but silence greeted him. He raised back up to see that Victor hadn’t moved, still watching without motion, a slight crease at the center of his forehead, his lips tight. Some conflict roiled just beneath that cool exterior and Yuuri had a feeling that he only served to aggravate it. Maybe this was it, he thought, panic rising. Victor somehow _knew_ and would tell him that he couldn’t train him. Besides, if he couldn’t handle a simple press conference, what made him think Primaja was even close to attainable?

“S— sorry, I...” He stammered, taking a moment to push through the fog of anxiety clinging to his chest like soot. He wasn't even certain what he was apologizing for. “I hope you'll still coach me!” he started a bit loudly, snapping his head up. “I really want this and I’m going to do my best so please don’t give up on me!”

Victor’s eyes widened slightly. “Yuuri.” The name left his lips and it felt surreal, that voice wrapped around that particular set of syllables.

Victor, who always moved with incredible confidence and grace, took a hesitant step forward, the movement rigid and wooden somehow. Yuuri could clearly see the wrinkle in his brow now, his fists taut, eyes cool and distant and something else. Yuuri paled. Angry. Victor was angry with him.

Before he could burst into tears, ask what he had done and how to fix it, run in the opposite direction or attempt any host of scattered reactions that his unpredictable mind concocted, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A man watched them from the shadowed bannisters of the staircase, his eyes gleaming with mischief in the dark. Once he realized he’d been spotted, he moved forward quickly, black coats swirling around his knees. Yuuri barely had time to blink when the assailant pounced on Victor, slipping his arms around the Primaja’s neck from behind. The arms of his coats slipped upward and Yuuri saw it. The firestarter muzzle fitted snugly around his wrist. A Fire God supporter. He must have sneaked into the palace.

“Found you,” the man growled into Victor’s ear, the hold tightening around his neck. “Victor.”

Yuuri’s jaw set, his fingers curling into fists. He didn’t like the way the man looked at the Primaja, the way he'd said his name, the way his lips brushed against the curve of his ear. Yuuri's body went numb, an invisible force manifesting and crackling over his skin in waves. The Goddess’s power.

“Victor!” he heard himself cry and he lunged forward on instinct alone to wrestle the man by the arm, all adrenaline and raw energy.

“Yuuri, no!” Someone called out from behind him.

“Phichit?” His eyes went wide and before he could stop himself, his palm met with something hard, shattering it into pieces.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long! And it was supposed to be longer. I had to cut it into two parts. I thought this was a good spot to cut off.  
> Also I did not know that there was an actual place called 'The Winter Palace' in Russia until I edited this and image searched to help with description. I'm keeping the name anyway! But no relation.  
> Anyway, I hope you like it. if you have questions or comments, please let me know. I love those :)


	5. The Captain

Horror seized Yuuri, the fragments of some fragile, broken thing shattering around his fingers and splintering on the floors. He’d never felt anything fracture so easily under his touch. Like glass. Or—

“Ice,” he realized, bringing his hand into himself and turning it over, thumbing over the bits in his palm. He looked up to see Victor’s arm outstretched protectively, a barrier between Yuuri and the assailant. Frost still lingered on his fingers from the shield he’d summoned. Even without the aid of Victor’s shield, the man was too fast for Yuuri. He had stepped out of the way just in time, his tall form now poised against the bannisters of the staircase.  Victor’s arm stayed positioned in a defensive stance, fingers outstretched, and Yuuri’s shoulders sank. Why was he protecting a firestarter?

“Yuuri!” Phichit panted upon reaching him and clamped one hand down on his shoulder. “No! That’s—”

“It’s alright, Phichit,” the attacker started in a deep, but surprisingly light tone. He stepped around Victor, patting his arm gently to indicate that it was okay to lower it. “Wow Yuuri.”

Yuuri tensed at his name on the firestarter's tongue.

“You really are as powerful as they say you are.”

The man moved into the window’s light, the blond of his undercut catching the sun, moss colored eyes still twinkling mischievously. Yuuri’s heart plunged with recognition.

Oh no…

“Captain Giacometti,” he introduced himself with a completely cordial grin as if Yuuri hadn’t just attempted assault. “You can call me Chris.”

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri squeaked, falling into a deep bow. How hadn’t he realized? Christophe Giacometti. The head of Victor’s guard and the military star of the capitol. But… His brow creased. If that were true, then why was he wearing a firestarter’s muzzle?

“Um…” Yuuri raised back up, his gaze lingering at the thick black cuff fitted around Chris’s wrist. How could he phrase this without being rude? “You um…” His eyes trailed the ground. “You’re…”

“Ridiculously attractive?” Chris finished for him with a smirk. “I know.” He slunk back behind Victor and Yuuri struggled to calm the growing instinct to charge at him again. “Why don’t you try telling him that?” Chris stretched his arms around the Primaja’s shoulders and crossed them over his chest so that the band showed plainly. “He finds every opportunity to slip away from me.” He fitted his chin perfectly into the crook of Victor’s neck and winked at Yuuri. Yuuri’s jaw clenched. Was he testing him?

Victor made no move to relieve himself of Chris. In fact, his recently ice cold features melted into a fond grin, aqua eyes bright.

“You should thank me, Chris,” Victor told him, voice light and airy. “I just saved your life. Perhaps I should consider a new guard?” He tilted his head, questioning eyes falling on Yuuri who immediately blushed.

Chris pouted, but the humor remained. “Maybe if this Primaja thing doesn’t work out for him,” he teased with an ironic grin. “He did almost kill me.”

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri howled a bit too loudly.

“Sorry Chris!” Phichit whined at his side. “I should have warned him.” He shot a sheepish grin at Yuuri. “Yuuri didn’t know you were… He’s not used to seeing fire folk.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. So it was true. Christophe Giacometti— celebrated military captain, chief protector of the Primaja— was a firestarter. A surge of anger rushed through him.

“Yuuri,” Victor started and the feeling vanished. He approached him, the former ice in his eyes completely gone. “Chris is harmless,” he smiled, his features the perfect mask of pleasantry. Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder what lurked beneath it. “But thank you for trying to protect me.” He winked.

Yuuri felt his cheeks flush red again. “Ah…” he stammered. “N— No problem, um…” He realized that he had no clue how he should address him. “Lord Nikiforov.”

Victor blinked at him for a second, his lips drooping. Then he smiled again with a bit too much effort. “Yuuri, please don’t call me that. It makes me feel ancient,” he laughed. “Just call me Victor, okay?”

“Victor.” Yuuri nodded and the moment felt surreal.

Chris’s eyes traveled to Yuuri and then to Victor and back to Yuuri a few times. “What were the two of you doing up here all alone in the dark anyway?”

“I was welcoming Yuuri to the palace,” Victor explained without so much as a hitch and Yuuri’s gut twinged. He hadn’t felt very welcome. There was something else. He remembered the cool look in the Primaja’s eyes as he approached him. The taut fists. Frustrated. Angry. He bit his lip. Did Victor always lie so easily?

“Chris and I volunteered to show Yuuri around,” Phichit announced excitedly. “Did you want to tag along?”

Victor shrugged with a sigh. “I regret that I won’t be able to join you today, but we’ll make up for that tomorrow, won’t we, Yuuri?” He winked again and Yuuri cursed the all too familiar heat wave that washed through his features. Victor held out his hand and, after a brief hesitation, Yuuri reached to claim it with trembling fingers. A strong, almost painful, pulse jolted forcefully through his arm. He gasped and glanced up to see that Victor seemed just as shocked. The mask cracked for a second and his features communicated part genuine surprise and cool agitation. The expression sent chills down Yuuri’s spine. Within seconds, the smile was back.

“It was nice to finally meet you, Yuuri!” He pulled away abruptly and started back down the corridor and toward the sprawling hall. “I have to get going now.”

“Alone?” Yuuri asked, his concern getting the best of him.

Victor froze and Yuuri wondered how his expression appeared now. Victor glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “You’re sweet, Yuuri, but I’m sure I’ll be fine without a guard for a few minutes.” He waved toward Chris. “I’ll find Georgi.”

“Good luck.” Chris frowned as the last wisps of silver vanished through the double doors and Yuuri had a feeling that ‘Georgi’ was regularly hard to find.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He felt Chris’s warm breath against his ear and leapt nearly five feet toward the ceiling. Chuckling, Chris shot him an apologetic look, but Yuuri could see the amusement lurking beneath that toothy grin. He decided that he didn’t quite trust the man.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard he is to keep up,” Chris stretched his arms above his head languidly and Yuuri’s attention lingered on the black gleaming band around his wrist. “With, I mean.” Chris smirked before giving him a curious look. He moved his arm slightly to the side and Yuuri’s gaze followed. “Does it scare you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri blinked. “N— Not really,” he lied. “I just…” He just didn’t understand why the capitol would work so closely with a firestarter. Especially knowing everything they were capable of. 

“Don’t worry,” Chris comforted him, the taunting and innuendo seeping from his tone. “I only use my magic out in the field. I have this reapplied whenever I return to the palace.” He pouted at the thing. “I just wish they didn’t make them so bulky. And black.” Chris made a face. “Give me some options, you know?” he asked, laughing.

Yuuri tried to laugh too, but he couldn’t keep the discomfort from showing on his features.

“It’s not exactly something the capitol advertises.” Chris shrugged, his hands shoved into he pockets of his black coat. “A firestarter in the military and at the head of the Primaja’s guard? What would the public think?” He placed the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically.

Yuuri frowned. He wondered how Victor truly felt about the arrangement…

Chris laughed, but his eyes softened considerably. “Yuuri relax,” he said, his voice the most honest that it had been since they met. “I would never hurt Victor.”

Yuuri looked him in the eye for a long moment. He nodded finally, somehow feeling more at ease.

“Sorry Yuuri,” Phichit shrugged, eyes lowering to the ground. “I guess there’s a lot that I didn’t tell you about, huh?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri mumbled, eying him with faux irritation. His lips curled into a grin. “It’s alright.” The press conference was over and his dirty secret was safe. And if Phichit and Victor both trusted Chris, they probably had good reason. Probably.

“Ready for the tour?!” Phichit asked, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet, his smartphone at the ready.

Yuuri’s chest swelled and he forced a warm nod. “Mm.” He was in the capitol with his best friend and embarking on a tour of the most famed and beautiful building in the known world. He could afford that much.

* * *

The tour began innocently enough. They started with the kitchens and dining areas where cooks operated 24/7, the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and tender cooked meats wafting throughout the halls. After dragging Yuuri away, they toured the palace library where curators housed the most rare and oldest of texts and historians traveled from all over the land to visit. Yuuri marveled at the pure expanse of the library, so many book lined corridors and hidden rooms that he was sure he’d lose his way. Chris and Phichit led him to fitness areas, lavish bathhouses that reminded him of home, studies, art galleries, praise rooms for dancers and more. They took a particularly lengthy time on the final and fifth floor of the palace which suffered no absence of luxurious ballrooms with beautifully sculpted balconies and seated alcoves. The view of the soaring snow sheeted mountains and the sparkling city below in the evening glow proved even more awe inspiring than the Capitol Station’s. Soon enough, Phichit snapped away collecting photo after photo and Chris pointed out all of the best rendezvous spots despite Yuuri’s constant assurances that he would not be needing them.

“Yuuri doesn’t really talk to anyone like that,” Phichit explained after snapping a selfie shot of the three of them leaning against the white stone ledge of the grand balcony. “Unless he has a lot to drink—”

“Phichit!” Yuuri cried as soon as the flash dissipated. This wasn’t an invitation to discuss his drunken antics, his love life or lack thereof…

Phichit shrugged as if to say, ‘It’s the truth!’

“I’ll set you up, Yuuri.” Chris patted him on the back with a heavy hand and Yuuri immediately pulled away, stepping back into the warmth of the ballroom.

“I don’t need—”

“Please,” Chris cut in, taking one step forward for every step Yuuri started back. “Everyone needs a release now and then. Especially a Primaja.” He winked. “What’s your type?”

Yuuri laughed nervously, taking a few more steps until his back pressed against the silver paneled walls. Why did talks with other guys always come to this? Between keeping busy with his training, pilgrimages and skating, he hadn’t really thought about women much. Not since Yuko… “Don’t really have one,” he shrugged.

Chris ignored him. “Blonde? Busty?” He shimmied his shoulders. “Modest and demure?” He pranced in faux daintiness.

Yuuri shook his head, hoping he would change the subject.

“Nice assets?” Chris curved his hands down his hips. “Tall? Short?”

He started to wander to the other end of the room.

“A big dick?”

Yuuri nearly choked, the question catching him completely off guard, his face flushing.

“Bingo!” Chris exclaimed, nearly reeling over with laughter.

“Chris!” Phichit noticed Yuuri’s features shading to a deep plum and scolded his friend before snapping a few offhand photos of the blushing dancer regardless. “Leave Yuuri alone!”

“What?!” Chris shrugged, leaning back onto an alcove wall. “We’re all adults here!”

“Well, I’ve never heard of Yuuri talk about anyone with much interest.” A thoughtful smile curved over Phichit’s lips and he finally dropped the phone to his side. “Except for maybe Victor.”

The smirk on Chris’s lips drooped and Yuuri’s face burned. He couldn’t take much more teasing.

“So what’s next on the tour?” he laughed, suddenly very interested in the gleaming chandeliers and silver embroidery of the ceilings overhead. He didn’t come to the capitol to find a bride. Or a groom for that matter. He came to dance for the Goddess and save Hasetsu! “It's getting pretty late so we should probably— oof!”

Something hard collided with his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He kneeled over, letting the small, brown haired boy sprint past him in a blur of blue. The boy hurried across the ballroom, trying several locked doors before rushing out onto the main balcony and gripping the ledge. The palace grounds, several stories down, proved too far a leap and he slumped down against the stone, the glossy blue of his coveralls sliding easily. Trembling, he buried his head in his hands and crowded his knees into himself.

"Yuuri!" Phichit and Chris rushed to his side, supporting him by the arms so that he could stand again, but he continued to stare after the boy on the balcony whose figure quivered more violently, eyes wide with distress.

"I'm fine," he assured them, pulling away and starting toward the boy. He instantly flinched at the attention.

"I didn’t—" he stammered. "I didn't mean to! I—“

"Hey!" Yuuri raised his hands to show that he meant no harm and the boy relaxed a bit. Dark powder marred his pale skin, his eyes red from tears. Yuuri bit his lip. He couldn't have been more than sixteen. "I'm not going to hurt you. Are you okay?"

The boy blinked at him, opening his mouth and then closing it abruptly.

"Watch out, Yuuri." Chris spoke in a deliberate, careful tone behind him. Yuuri's eyes narrowed and he started to ask why when a loud call bellowed through the room and heavy, quick footsteps pounded in their direction.

"You!" A guard stormed into the threshold between the ballroom and the balcony and narrowed cold, unforgiving eyes at the quivering body there. The boy's breathing increased, the whites of his eyes growing. He started to scramble away but the guard wrestled him roughly by the arm.

“Stop!" Yuuri cried, one hand extended before he realized what he was doing.

"Lord Katsuki," the guard turned to him robotically, his features oddly lifeless as he held the squirming teenager in a vice like grip. "General Seung-gil Lee of Elder Baranovskaya’s guard. An honor.” He gave a shallow bow before scowling down at the boy again. “This boy is a firestarter from the outlying territories.”

Yuuri’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Oh.” He eyed the boy again, teary eyes desperate and distressed, and felt a pang of sympathy despite the black band on his wrist. “Wh— what did he do?”

Seung-gil’s lips curved into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, his grip tightening. “Guang Hong here was stealing. We granted him work here at the palace but, as it is known,” He shot a short, rueful glance over Yuuri’s shoulder and Chris tensed. “, a firestarter can’t be trusted.”

“Please!” Guang Hong dropped to his knees, breath ragged. “I just needed—”

“Seung-gil reached within the chest of the gauzy blue jumper to pick a worn book from the folds, its yellowed pages edging out from the binding. “You needed one of the Goddess’s sacred texts?”

“Please,” Guang Hong sobbed. “I was just going to sell it to a museum. My family—”

“Lies!” Seung-gil snapped, his expression still oddly without emotion as he wrenched the boy across the ballroom and toward the staircase. “He’s probably one of Leroy’s spies. He’ll be punished at once.” Guang Hong leaned out of the hold and turned to face Yuuri, cheeks red and streaked with tears. Something in Yuuri’s chest lurched.

“Wait!”

Seung-gil stood unmoving for a few moments, his back to them. He finally turned with a curious expression. “Is the new Primaja a fire folk activist too?” He scoffed. “I suppose it’s not surprising with the company you keep.” He watched the boy thrashing against him with the detached, but cruel amusement that children exhibited when toying with insects. “I don’t know what’s come over the world these days. The Northlands would never allow a firestarter so high in our ranks.”

Chris drew in an audible breath and Yuuri felt the need to ease the tension. He didn’t completely disagree with Seung-gil, but Chris had been kind to him so far… “Look,” he started, his voice more meek than he would have liked. “I’m sure the capitol had good reason for giving Chris this position!”

“Doubtful.” Seung-gil frowned. “But I wasn’t talking about the captain.”

Yuuri blinked, confused, and Seung-gil sighed.

“Don’t you know anything about your own mentor?” He started back toward the staircase and Guang Hong dragged his feet along, resigned. “Why don’t you ask him how his father’s doing?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. He thought that story was only something whispered among children and elderly women in the Eastlands. Elder Celestino— the child of a firestarter. “That’s just a rumor!”

“Are you certain?” Seung-gil asked and Yuuri shrank back as though the words stung. He watched with a creased brow and questioning eyes as they disappeared down the stairwell. When they were completely gone, Phichit let out a lengthy breath.

“Sorry, Yuuri!” He frowned. “The General works directly under Lilia and he’s just as intense as she is!”

“She’d kill you if she heard you call her ‘Lilia’, “ Chris teased.

“Good thing she’s not around,” Phichit winked, his features softening. “Are you okay, Chris?”

“Me?” Chris beamed. “Since when do I ever let anything that tight ass has to say get to me?” He sighed, folding his arms. “The man needs to get laid.” He turned a mischievous grin on Yuuri. “Think he’s into fire?”

Yuuri grinned at the joke. “Somehow I doubt it.” A new thought came to him. “Don’t you rank higher than him?” He raised an eyebrow. “Can he talk to you like that?”

Chris’s smile sagged a bit. “He’s Elder Baranovskaya’s personal favorite guard. She protects him fiercely and they typically agree on everything. Northlanders.” He rolled his eyes. “I may be captain, but I’m still a firestarter. One step out of line and it’s mutiny.”

Yuuri nodded slowly. So he wasn’t the only one put off by firestarters retaining such a prominent position in the capitol, working so close to the palace that they were able to steal sacred texts. He knew that some areas in the South were more apt to integrate their kind into society. It wasn’t unusual for him to come across a village on pilgrimages where fire folk had made an honest life for themselves, but a palace worker and a captain? “Do a lot of fire folk live here?” he asked gently, hoping he didn’t offend Chris too much.

“About as much as anywhere else,” Chris shrugged. “But, with my help, the capitol has taken steps to ensure that fire folk don’t have to live on the outskirts of society anymore.”

“Hm,” Yuuri crossed his arms and pulled at the fringes of his suit, anxiety growing in his chest.

“Not all of us are Fire God supporters, Yuuri,” Chris chuckled. “The Fire God’s reign was horrific. Most of us understand that. We don’t want the world to burn,” he sighed, approaching the ballroom windows to stare out at the quickly vanishing sun. “That’s why I started the palace employment initiative. To give young fire folk a chance, but,” He paused, something hardening in his eyes. “Sometimes it’s difficult to even grasp normalcy after being in the dark so long.”

Yuuri studied him. How difficult had it been for Chris then to ascend to military captain and head of Victor’s guard? What darkness had he faced? He thought back to Guang Hong again screaming and writhing helplessly when something came to him. _Probably one of Leroy’s spies._ “Whose Leroy?”

Chris and Phichit exchanged loaded glances.

“J.J!” Someone screeched from across the yard below, a familiar voice. They all raced across the room, their steps clattering on the marble, toward a smaller balcony where the scream had come from.

Yuuri gaped. “Yuri!”

The boy stood in a sprawling outdoor rink below surrounded by Evergreens and even from a distance, Yuuri could tell that he was seething. He stomped about, waving a black device in the air. Otabek stood at his side saying something, but Yuri paid it no mind. Finally, the blond took the device— a phone— and heaved it meters across the rink, still huffing and puffing. He kicked at a pile of snow when that wasn’t fulfilling enough.

“So have you met little Yuri?” Chris folded his hands and leaned onto the balcony ledge with an amused grin. “He’s a delight.”

“We’ve met,” Yuuri groaned. He hoped that whatever Yuri was upset about, it didn’t involve him this time.

"J.J's group must have hacked the palace network again," Phichit groaned, pulling out his own phone where a video streamed across the screen. Phichit tapped at the glass and buttons to no avail. "This'll be playing on every device that's connected in the vicinity," he sighed. "You talked him up, Yuuri."

“J.J?” Yuuri blinked.

“Jean-Jacques Leroy,” Chris sighed. “The thorn in my side since I became captain.” He sidled beside Phichit and Yuuri to stare down intensely at the phone. “He got through again?! What are they doing in network security?!”

A handsome young man with dark hair and tanned skin gazed out at them with alarming confidence, his lips moving fast, arms gesturing in grandiose movements. Chris rolled his eyes.

“I’m taking the capitol!" he announced and Phichit and Chris stiffened immediately. Yuuri frowned. They had obviously caught him at the tail end of whatever he was announcing. Thankfully, the video started again in a loop.

"Hey, it's J.J!” He winked before performing some odd symbol with his hands. Two Js, Yuuri realized, spelled out with his forefinger and thumbs. A ring of fire encircled the tips of his index fingers and Yuuri started back instinctively. "I know you haven't heard from me in a while, but I've been busy!” J.J went on. “Nice try blocking me, but I guess your capitol techs just aren't smart enough for J.J!” He announced his name again with ten times the fervor. Someone in the background said something and he nodded. "Right, right,” He turned back to face the camera. “Since the cute little kitten and the piglet have both stepped up to face me—“

Yuuri’s mouth hung open, blinking for a second. Chris and Phichit affirmed his suspicions when they both turned to shoot him a nervous glance. This was the second time he'd been called a pig today. Was this a thing?! Who was responsible for this nickname that he knew nothing about?!

“— I thought a greeting was in order. It's me, J.J,  savior of the fireborn, the chosen of the Fire God, the flame Primaja."

Yuuri gasped.

“KING!” he proclaimed manically. “Your defenses are lowering and our magic is growing stronger." There was chanting in the background as a curtain of flame erupted behind him, burning just over his shoulders like a cloak. "We have the power, we have the people and we have the support of our God." More chanting. "Together we will free him! So let this be your warning." He winked and then his face went solemn, cerulean eyes burning with passion as he spoke directly into the camera. "I'm taking the capitol."

"King J.J!! King J.J! King J.J!” the unseen crowd repeated the chant over and over again and the video began another loop.

Chris let out a low whistle.

Yuuri still stared at the screen, his mouth agape. He’d heard rumors of a flame Primaja— the wretched chosen one of the fire people who could only rise when the Fire God regained enough strength. But he never thought it would happen. Never dreamed it. How could all of this be going on right under his nose? Right under the entire land’s nose? He turned on his tour guides, trying to keep the frustration from his tone. ”How long have you known about this?!"

“J.J has been active for a while as a powerful Fire God supporter,” Chris explained with a sigh. “We can usually snuff his camps out pretty easily, but they’ve been growing stronger over the past years. There are too many now and they travel fast."

"But he can’t get in right?” Yuuri asked with too much desperation. “The shrine has been secure for years!"

"Probably not," Chris folded his arms and stared out into the evening sky at something Yuuri couldn’t see. "But we've also never had to face firestarters with this type of power. The Fire God is growing stronger and his people with him."

Phichit sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "You couldn't have picked a better time to visit the capitol, Yuuri," He gave him a weak grin.

"I guess now we know why the Goddess needed three Primaja." Chris chuckled darkly. He promptly turned on his heel and removed a phone from the pocket of his coats. "Phichit, you better get Yuuri to bed. I've got work to do."

Phichit nodded, patting a dazed Yuuri on the back and leading him toward the stairs.

"And the chosen trio have a lot to talk about tomorrow." Chris shot him a smirk, but there was something sympathetic there. "Sleep tight, Yuuri.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri bowed mechanically, his head swimming. The capitol was everything he'd hoped for, big, dazzling and beautiful- but so much more confusing, more frightening, more dark than he could have ever imagined. He swallowed hard as he and Phichit descended the staircase in silence, the usual anxiety gnawing at his chest— but this time with good reason.

He definitely wasn't in Hasetsu anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update this time. I just started summer school so there may be about 10 days in between updates for a while instead of the usual 7. I will try to stay on task. Thank you for your support and please let me know how you are feeling about the story!
> 
> Also I just realized there is SO much exposition in this chapter. I apologize. If you have questions about anything or advice on how I can be more clear, let me know. Thank you!


	6. The Deal

The next day began innocently enough. Phichit dragged him from the cozy confines of his new bedroom that morning, the warm cotton and silk comforter still fresh in his memory as he stumbled into the dining area for breakfast. Afterwards, they headed to the narrow foyer of a study on the third floor where Phichit assured him that Victor and Yuri would be arriving within moments. Chris had summoned his quadrant to discuss military strategy and so Yuuri's protection fell into the hands of the newest member of his guard, a man with reddish hair, intense violet eyes and a personality to match. He carried an ice-infused weapon in the holster attached to his belt. A nonelemental.

“Michele Crispino, sir!” The man announced, his frame straight as a staff, one hand at his forehead in salute. “It is an honor to protect you, Lord Katsuki!”

“N- Nice to meet you!” Yuuri bowed, taken aback by the sheer forcefulness in Michele's demeanor. The way others spoke to him, regarded him so highly still unnerved him. He thought of Victor’s response to his own honorifics the day before. “And you can call me Yuuri.”

"Of course, Yuuri sir!" Michele saluted again and a Yuuri gave a soft chuckle. He supposed it was a step up.

"Thank you for joining my guard," Yuuri nodded appreciatively.

Michele bowed. “It is my sworn duty to protect the Primaja, the capitol and to save my sister from the evil clutches of the firestarters!” His fists clenched. “Sir!”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “They took your sister?”

“Yes.” The muscles around his mouth tightened, his eyes growing ever more intense. “Sara. A band of fire folk came into town and stole her away from me.” His arms trembled, voice wavering more and more with each word. “They’re holding her captive somewhere.”

“That's..." Yuuri felt a rush of anger at the thought. "Terrible." In just the last 24 hours, he’d witnessed theft, a network breach and learned of a kidnapping— all at the hands of firestarters. And yet, the capitol allowed them to roam about the palace grounds so freely… He began to tremble himself, tangling his fingers together and squeezing for comfort. He hadn’t liked Seung-gil’s treatment of Guang Hong or how Chris had to stand there and take it… and yet still… "I'm sorry.” He watched as the man boiled in his inner turmoil and, feeling as though he were intruding on something, walked out of the foyer and through the white wood door of the study.

The room was immaculate, a blend of pale blues, whites and silver. Sunlight streamed in from the lofty windows edging along the ceiling, highlighting the ivory writing desk and the two white leather cushioned chairs placed before it. Silver plated paintings and photographs lined the walls, many of Victor himself. Yuuri started toward them immediately and then froze in his tracks when he caught Michele staring at him from the corner of his eye. He nearly jumped. “Wh—what are you doing?”

“Guarding you,” Michele replied right away and saluted again. “Sir!”

“You don’t have to stand there the whole time,” Yuuri laughed nervously. “You can just wait outside. Please,” he added, hoping Michele would take the hint.

Thankfully, he did, exiting the study with a nod and leaving the door half cracked. After the brief moment of relief, Yuuri spun back around to gawk at the pictures in awe, hands pushing into his cheeks. Victor as a young boy, arms wrapped around a vaguely agitated Elder Feltsman's neck- their expressions juxtaposing one another hilariously. Teenage Victor skating across the ice in lavender colored robes, a crown of ice forged roses atop his head. Actual photographs and paintings of roses and other flowers long vanished from the world. Victor and Chris. Yuuri felt a twinge of discomfort. Victor and Minako mid-practice. Victor and a beautiful blond woman with fierce green eyes. Natalya Plisetsky. Yuri's mother and Victor's predecessor, Yuuri realized. Then an old photo, the most weathered of the bunch, of a sleeping child with shoulder-length, pearly tresses wrapped in an old woman's arms. Next to the bent and discolored photograph on the bookcase mantle stood a ticking clock. Yuuri frowned. Thirty minutes had passed. Where were Victor and Yuri?

 _It’s fine_ , he told himself. _Primaja are busy people_. _It’s probably hard to stay on schedule most of the time_. He took to twiddling his thumbs and smoothing down the material of his black slacks and button up to make sure he looked especially presentable. Fussing with stray strands of his combed hair. Imagining what they would discuss and how they would proceed until his foot bounced so harshly on the plush rug that he thought it might plunge through the scaffolding. Wracked with nerves, he plucked his phone from his pocket. He needed something to distract himself. His gaze floated up to the photos on the walls and then to the camera application on his phone. Maybe if he just took a few pictures...

 

As if chastising him for the idea, his phone began to buzz, one word popping up on the display. Home.

He bit his lip. On one hand, his family had been attempting to contact him since yesterday when his phone had been packed away in his luggage and he’d been too exhausted by the day’s events to reach out before bed. On the other hand, Victor and Yuri could walk through that door any moment now… He supposed he could simply let his family know that he was okay. Drawing in a breath, he touched the ‘Answer’ button and squeals of ‘Yuuri!’ immediately flooded through. Minako and Mari crowded most of the camera while his parents waved from the background.

“Hi guys!” Yuuri waved back with a smile. “I can’t talk long, but I just wanted you to know that I’m fi—”

The hinges of the door creaked and he went stiff.

“Georgi, Otabek,” He heard Victor addressing the guards. “You can wait out here with Mickey. We’ll be fine.”

“They’re here!” Yuuri squeaked. “I have to go! It’s rude to—”

“Yuuri, I swear if you hang up on us...” Minako scowled up at him from the screen.

“You want to talk about 'rude'…” Mari frowned.

Yuuri started to jam his finger against the ‘End Call’ button when the door opened and raucous barking filled the room. A fluffy, brown poodle burst through and his eyes fixed on the dog, a far off memory stilling him in place. Before he could gather himself, the poodle launched forward and he flinched, tossing his phone upward. It sailed across the carpet, landing somewhere under the desk.

“No!” Yuuri cried dodging around the poodle and falling onto his hands and knees, prepared to search. He cursed himself inwardly. He already knew about Victor's equally famed poodle, Makkachin. Why had he let the dog get to him?

“Hi Yuuri!” Victor greeted as he entered the room, the blond dancer not far behind. “Sorry we’re late. We had an early practice and—”

He stopped, staring at Yuuri sprawled over the carpet, his backside in the air as he desperately felt under the table. Yuuri paused and turned to face them, his features glowing red. “H- Hey…”

“Did you meet Victor yet?” Minako’s voice came. “He’s pretty hot, right?” she teased.

“S- Sorry,” Yuuri half sobbed. “I just need to find my phone.” He began violently scouring the underside of the desk.

Yuri scoffed, a cruelly amused grin spreading on his lips. “What the hell, pig?”

“Is that that Plisetsky brat?” Mari asked.

“What?!” Yuri growled.

  
“His names ‘Yuri’ too, right Yuuri?”

“Mari please,” Yuuri begged, finally spotting the phone. If he could just reach a little further… “Hang up! I have to go.”

“That’s just confusing,” she ignored him. “You’re older so you get seniority. Call him ‘Yurio’.”

“WHAT?!” Yuri’s eyes bulged and Victor laughed. The sound somehow relieved Yuuri. He finally inched the phone closer with his fingertips until he could snatch it from underneath the desk and power it off completely.

“Sorry!” He leapt to his feet and fell into a bow.

“What a fucking moron,” Yuri muttered under his breath as he made his way to the leather arm chair Yuuri had previously occupied and promptly claimed it as his own, glaring daggers at the older dancer all the while.

“Uh…” Yuuri trailed off. He still didn't know how to react to Yuri's blatant irritation with him. Not that dealing with conflict was his speciality anyway, but the boy felt threatened by him, that much was obvious. Would he soften when he learned how much more remedial Yuuri was? Or use it as ammunition against him?  Something soft and warm cuddled at his leg and he welcomed the distraction.  “Hi Makkachin.” He kneeled down to pet her with a smile and she barked happily. His heart gave a bittersweet twinge.

“We should be apologizing to you, Yuuri,” Victor said, slipping a damp peacoat from his shoulders, a curtain of silver hair falling in its place. “We were out practicing and forgot all about our meeting.” He shrugged with a smile, taking his seat directly behind the desk.

A string of hurt pierced Yuuri. Forgot? How could they forget about him so easily? He realized he was still standing and moved to take his seat in the chair next to Yuri's. Victor stared at him as if gauging for a reaction, a flicker of that coolness from the prior day returning briefly.

"I- It's fine," Yuuri nodded, shaking it off with a smile. "I'm just honored to be here."

Yuri scoffed. Victor frowned. Perhaps it wasn't the reaction he'd been looking for? “We came here as soon as possible when we realized. We didn't even take the time to drop our coats off,” he grinned. “Well my coat. Yuri thinks he doesn’t need one.” He cocked his head at the boy. “Or should I say Yurio?”

“Don’t start calling me that!” Yuri snapped. “And those chosen by the Ice Goddess don’t need protection from the cold,” He swiveled his neck around to face Yuuri with a fixing glare. “Any real Primaja knows that.”

Yuuri swallowed hard, remembering his bundle of coats.

“So,” Victor started, resting his chin on folded hands. “Neither of you have been called by the Goddess yet so you’ll both be training under me until that happens.” His eyes danced back and forth between the two of them. “Whichever comes first.”

Yuri grunted, his teeth grit.  Yuuri nodded, eyes aflame.

“Today we’ll discuss plans and dates for training and work out any technicalities,” he explained calmly. “Any questions so far?”

“I have a question.” Yuri volunteered instantly, turning cruel green eyes on Yuuri. Yuuri tensed. Please no. Please no. Please no.

“Is it true that you can’t use magic?”

There it was. Yuuri felt something inside of him splinter down the middle and crack open. The room and its sounds dulled for a moment, the hairs prickling on his neck and arms. This was it. He was all out of space to run. "I... I used t- I mean, I _could_..."

Yuri leaned in, closing the space between their chairs and Yuuri resented the smug sneer on his pixie like features. "Do it then."

As if to demonstrate, the blond casually waved his hand and bits of frost curled at his fingertips. Yuuri only stared, expression stricken with terror.

Victor watched him with guarded eyes. Yuri’s sneer widened. Makkachin pushed at him with her head again.

"So it's true," Yuri nearly guffawed, his curiosity sated by the silence, gleeful features directly contrasting with the devastation on Yuuri's.

“I could once,” Yuuri spoke quietly, eyes focused downward. “I haven’t been able to for years after…” he trailed off, deciding he didn’t want to— couldn’t— talk about it now with Victor’s cool eyes on him and Yuri’s jarring enthusiasm.

“So essentially you have extraordinary power and no elemental force behind it," Victor tapped thoughtfully at his lips.

“Elder Celestino said you might be able to help me,” Yuuri twiddled his thumbs anxiously. "That if I just practiced with you then..." _Please give me a chance_ , he begged them silently. _Please._

“So they sent us a charity case?” Yuri snorted, leaning back in his chair, his fingernails digging into his arms as he crossed them. “I can’t believe people think the Goddess would actually call this loser before me.” He snapped his head up to face Victor, his tone thick with dark, angry laughter. “What kind of Primaja can’t use magic?!”

Victor leaned back as well, a frown on his lips. “Not a very good one I suppose.”

Yuuri lost his breath, numbness spreading over his entire form. No. Victor wasn't supposed to say that. This was his worst nightmare realized. His chest tightened, his breathing coming in shorter spaces. _Not now, Yuuri_ , he told himself. _Please breathe. Think of something else._

“Exactly!” Yuri leapt to his feet and started forward, bringing his fists down harshly on Victor’s desk. “So what do we need him for?!”

Yuuri still sat trapped in his shell of disbelief. They were talking and he could barely make out what they were saying. They were making decisions without him. They would send him back to Hasetsu. He clenched his fists, forcing deep, painful breaths into his lungs. He couldn’t allow it. 

“It'll come back!” he cried, head snapping up, every fiber of his being on fire. “I know it will! With your help! Please!”

They both stopped to stare at him, saying nothing.

 _They must be embarrassed for you_ , some dark part of his mind told him and he shook his head. Later.

“A third Primaja would be useful,” he went on, unconsciously clutching at his pendant. “R— Remember what happened after Minako had to stop dancing? The ice started to melt and—”

“Yeah, yeah” Yuri finally responded with a frown. “She went and got herself fucked up in an avalanching accident, the world went to shit and my mother didn't have anyone to train her when she awakened,” he finished, now hovering over Yuuri. “Your teacher was a dumb bitch.”

Yuuri drew in a deep, shaky breath, tears burning at his eyes as he watched for some sign of yielding from Victor. But the Primaja wouldn’t look at him, his arms folded as he stared off at something in the distance. Was Yuuri's outlook as Primaja so dreary that he didn't even warrant a second thought?

“Victor and I would never let something like that happen!” Yuri continued mercilessly. “We’ll be fine, pig! So you can go—”

“Yurio!” Victor sang sweetly from behind them, his voice contrasting wildly with the tension in the room.

Yuri turned his scowl on Victor, amping up the disdain. “What did you just call me, old man?”

Victor didn’t seem bothered by this in the slightest. “I think you need a moment,” he told him calmly, chin resting in his hand.

“ _I_ need a moment?!” Yuri growled in retaliation, lashing a pointed finger out at Yuuri. “He’s about to cry!”

“Yurio,” Victor whined with a mocking sad face. “Why don’t you go find your boyfriend? I’m sure he’s lonely without you.”

Yuri’s scowl deepened, but this time the blush on his features did too. “HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!”

Victor pouted. “It would break his heart to hear you say that.”

“I SWEAR TO THE GODDESS, VICTOR!”

“Yuri.” The door opened and Otabek popped his head in. “Are you okay? I can hear you all the way out here.”

“Yeah m’fine,” Yuri muttered, features still a soft shade of pink.

“You need to get some air?” the other teen asked, eyes darting to Yuuri’s slumped over, rigid form on the chair. “I got you a piroshki.” He handed the wrapped bun out to Yuri who stared at it first and then at Victor.

“You better handle this,” he seethed, motioning at Yuuri. Finally he took the piroshki from Otabek’s hands, his lip turning up. Victor beamed happily at them and his features immediately hardened again. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled, following Otabek out of the door and slamming it behind them.

Save for the clock ticking on the mantle, silence fell over the study and Yuuri both welcomed and cursed it. Yuri’s absence relieved him, gave him more room to get his breathing under control, to reason with Victor one on one. But Victor's presence… It wasn't the warm, encouraging one that smiled out at him from his bedroom walls, that made men and women alike fall to their knees with one gesture on the ice. This cold, impenetrable Victor suffocated him, shattered everything that he thought he knew. He could face a thousand Yuri Plisetskys and they wouldn’t hurt this much. As if reading his mind, Makkachin burrowed her big, damp nose further into his leg and Yuuri gave her a weak pat, hand trembling.

Victor watched him again from behind the desk, his cool gaze lowering to the poodle. “Makkachin likes you,” he commented in a low, absentminded tone, almost to himself.

“I like her too,” Yuuri tried to force a smile as he batted tears away, thankful that none of them had spilled yet. “I um…” he started uncomfortably. Maybe if he was completely honest... “I had a dog once—”

“How was your first day?” Victor cut in, leaning forward with a polite grin. Yuuri’s hope rekindled. Perhaps Victor would be more understanding now without Yuri’s presence?

“It was … interesting,” he decided on the most tactful way to put it. “I mean, after the press conference.” His gaze dropped, a nervous grin on his lips. “And J.J’s stream.”

“I’d let the military worry about J.J,” Victor waved it off, his lips curving downward in distaste. “Anything else?”

“Well…” Yuuri trailed off, his fingers clawing into the black material of his slacks and bunching it. Speaking of J.J… There was one question that burned restlessly on the tip of his tongue since yesterday. Or an issue rather. Perhaps Yuuri was only being dramatic, but the capitol’s lenience with firestarters bothered him— especially when it put them so close to the Primaja and the Goddess’s shrine. What if Victor resented it? Maybe that’s why he'd been so cold? “There are… a lot of fire folk in the capitol,” he started subtly.

“There are.” Victor smiled again. He eyed him expectantly, like a spider would a fly inching dangerously close to its web.

Yuuri flinched. Now Victor probably thought he was prejudiced… How could he fix this?! “I, um—! I don’t mean to make it sound as if… I’m not…!” He gestured about frantically. “I just didn’t expect them so close to the shrine!"

“"Fire elementals aren't allowed within eighty meters of the shrine,” Victor explained evenly. “There are spells in place to protect it.”

“A— And you’re fine?” Yuuri spoke lowly, unable to face him directly. “You’re okay with… everything?”

A pause and then amused laughter. ”Chris told me that you were firephobic, but I didn’t know it was this bad, Yuuri,” He cocked his head. “Perhaps we should enroll you in sensitivity training before we start on anything else?”

“Sorry!” Yuuri’s nails dug so harshly into the material of his pants that he was certain he’d need to replace them. “I didn’t mean— I just—!”

“I chose Chris as the captain of my guard,” Victor interrupted. “It was my decision.”

Yuuri looked up, his eyes wide.

“When I met him, he was using his magic to run several illegal ventures. Glass making. Welding. Saunas. All ingenious ideas for a 14-year-old orphan, right?” Victor chuckled at the memory and then his features went solemn. “Well, the capitol didn’t approve of a business that they couldn’t profit from.... And he may have stolen a few materials," he shrugged. "In the end, they wanted to punish him for trying to survive.”

Yuuri thought of Guang Hong, the sacred texts hidden under his coveralls.

_Please… I was just going to sell it to a museum. My family…_

His throat tightened, a sick feeling in his stomach.

“So I asked him to join my guard instead,” Victor went on, his voice lilting upward. “Of course they all disapproved initially. But Yakov couldn’t say ‘no’ to me forever and it doesn’t hurt to have a firestarter in the military.” He winked and then slowly, his features cooled again.

“I trust Chris with my life, Yuuri. And if it turns out that somehow he’s leading the Fire God’s rebellion, I’ll gladly take full responsibility for it.”

Yuuri nodded, his voice failing him, eyes settling on the carpet. Great. Now Victor thought he was uncoachable  _and_ a bigot…

“Any other pressing issues you wanted to bring up?” Victor asked, almost mocking, vigilant blue eyes on him.

“Well,” Yuuri shrugged despite his tense muscles. “Besides the ‘pig’ thing,  nothing really I guess.” He gave a nervous laugh, hoping that Victor would join in at his frail attempt at humor. Victor simply tilted his head, a few silvered strands falling into his eyes. A slow smile traveled over his mouth and his gaze trailed upward.

“Oops!” he sang.

Yuuri’s grin faltered a bit. “Oops?”

“I may have let it slip in an interview once or twice,” Victor explained, one finger twirling about his long tresses. “You know how reporters are. Everything spreads so fast.”

“Y—You,” Yuuri started, his mouth going dry. “Called me a pig?”

“Well,” Victor replied. “It isn’t exactly a random nickname is it, Yuuri?” He shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

Yuuri’s heart sank. It seemed that Victor would have no issue picking up where Yuri left off.

“You’ve gained a lot of weight, haven’t you, little piggy?” he asked, the smile still glowing on his features, but Yuuri saw something more there. Something incendiary. Something looking to wound. “Too many pork cutlet bowls I’m guessing?”

“I— I was off season from pilgrimage,” Yuuri stammered. “And Yuri Plisetsky was announced as Primaja! Then when it happened, we celebrated a lot..." He blushed. "... and—!”

“You have to lose weight and learn how to summon the element of your own volition,” Victor’s voice dropped several degrees in temperature, the aqua blue of his eyes icing over. He leaned back in his chair with crossed arms. “Or I can never coach you.”

Yuuri’s mouth went dry, panic surging through him. “I can lose weight,” he started shakily. “But my magic...” Isn't that what a predecessor Primaja's coaching was meant for? To aid their successor where they needed it the most?  "I've tried everything-"

“That isn’t my responsibility,” Victor said cooly, the polite mask almost taunting. “If you can't perform, you’re free to go home.”

Go home? Go home to the family that supported him, that shouted encouraging words across the stands for him, smiled for him no matter how wound up or self-deprecating he became? Go home to Yuko who stood on the ice with him from his first wobbly steps to the day he exploded the world and did the impossible? Go home to the citizens of Hasetsu squandered off at the edge of the land, so desperate for representation? For a leader?

“No!” Yuuri stood abruptly, his palms landing flat upon the desk. He used the surface to support himself as his shoulders heaved and the pressure built behind his eyes, a curtain of black tresses concealing them. “You were my last hope. Please.”

Victor said nothing and he couldn’t see him with his eyes jammed shut like dams, so he pressed on. “I’ve admired you since I was a kid.” _Or what I thought was you._ “I used to…” He forced a deep breath, the air burning like fire in his lungs again as the airways tightened. “... watch you all the time.”

“Yuuri…” Victor hesitated. Was it just Yuuri's imagination or did his voice tremble as well? If it did, the tremor vanished in the next instant, his words the perfect mask of saccharine diplomacy with a savage center. “You sound like a stalker.”

“I didn’t mean it that way!” Yuuri retaliated, his voice breaking. “You were special to me,” he quieted, eyes blurring with long held tears. He let them slide down his cheeks, some part of him ceasing to care. “There are videos, holograms of amazing dancers for decades over but when I watched you, it wasn’t just dancing, I…” He dared to look up and stare him directly in the eyes. “I saw you.”

Victor’s eyes widened, the practiced mask melting from his features.

“Into you,” Yuuri whispered softly, wiping away tears. “And it was beautiful.” His eyes skimmed the desktop, a rose tint on his skin. “I knew if I could carry that with me, I could be amazing too. I could be Primaja. I know I still can. Please.”

The silence hovered thick between them and Yuuri waited. When Victor said nothing, he stepped back, his shoulders resigned, his words spent. There was nothing left to say. Victor didn't want to coach him. Didn't think he was good enough. His knees suddenly weak, he fell back against the arm chair and leaned forward, his head buried in his hands, thankful for the numb coolness that spread quickly over his skin, his core, his emotions. He hoped Victor would just leave. He didn’t.

“Yuuri.” Victor called in a small voice and he slowly peeked out with reddened eyes to see the Primaja gazing at him. Victor immediately averted his gaze, focusing on the ivory of the desktop instead. Yuuri didn’t see a mask now, only an exhausted man with defeated shoulders and troubled eyes.

“I'll coach you for a month. If you can’t summon the element by then, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

Yuuri’s chest bloomed with relief, tears of joy gleaming in his eyes. “R— Right! Of course!”

Victor did not share his elation, only pointing cool, blue eyes on him. "You'll leave without argument if the month ends and your ability hasn't returned." He extended a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Yuuri swallowed hard, but his eyes lit with new determination. “Deal!” he replied, grasping the pale hand. A familiar electric jolt passed through him just as it had the day before, stronger this time, nearly taking his breath. Something instinctual and ingrained told him that he wasn’t to pull away, that they should remain that way, hands locked, energies melding but Victor broke the connection. When Yuuri recovered himself, he gawked across the desk at the Primaja, mouth agape.

“Wh- What was—”

“I’ll have Georgi deliver a schedule.” Victor rose abruptly from the desk, lips terse, eyes shadowed beneath silver curtains. Yuuri watched as he wrenched his coat from the rack and pulled it roughly over his shoulders. He marched straight out of the door, leaving Yuuri alone in the study, the tremor from their last exchange still rocking through him.

 


	7. The Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your reviews! I'm sorry about all the Yuuri abuse. The good thing is that this is the last Yuuri whump chapter... for a little bit anyway. >:D There will be some Yuuri whump next chapter, but it is mostly fine.  
> I also got a message from a reader last chapter telling me that Yuuri was OOC. Too anxious. Not excited enough about his opportunity. I think the circumstances are a bit more challenging here than in the show, but I agreed to a point and did some edits of the last four chapters. Hopefully they help! You don't have to reread. The plot is the same. The edits only slightly changed characterization and made the stakes more clear.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Poor Yuuri...

Yuuri sat at the circular edge of the outdoor rink, legs folded, eyes closed. A bulge throbbed at his temple as snow flurries landed and bit into his already chilled skin. His shoulders gave a violent, involuntary shudder. He’d been sitting like this for over an hour, dressed in nothing but a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Victor told him that his meditations would be more effective this way. That, in order to be one with the element, he had to accept it, freezing cold and all. Of course, Victor told him a lot of things. Often for his own amusement rather than Yuuri’s benefit…

He popped one eye open to see Yuri Plisetsky gliding rapidly over the ice with outstretched arms, eyes ablaze. He propelled into a double salchow and landed perfectly, blond tresses splaying in the breeze. Yuuri wondered why he’d chosen the rink as his dancing ground. Knowing Yuri, probably just to prove that he could do anything Victor could do and better… But he hadn’t quite reached Victor’s level yet. Yuuri narrowed his eyes. Something was missing… Apparently Victor thought so too, the contemplative frown on his lips all too familiar as he approached the blond who obviously wasn’t having any of it. They fell into another one of their spats and irritation bubbled in Yuuri’s gut. If it were him out there, he would take the criticism in stride and learn from it. Yuri didn’t understand how lucky he was. How much the Goddess had blessed him with a forerunner who actually wanted to coach him. With Victor.

 

“Yuuri!” Victor called and Yuuri flinched instinctively. “What did we say about your eyes?”

 _Keep them closed_ , he recalled, immediately shutting them again. He couldn’t let the outside world distract him from his meditations. That’s what Victor had told him. Though he very much suspected that this was the Primaja’s way of keeping him in the dark. With his eyes closed, he couldn’t see any of the sacred dances that Victor taught Yuri. Dances that were meant for him as well. He couldn’t commit them to memory and practice them alone later in the secrecy of his bedroom. The idea had certainly crossed his mind, but Victor quickly nipped that in the bud... They always practiced a good distance away from Yuuri, making sure his eyes were shut or he was otherwise occupied. Yuuri let out a deep, shuddering sigh as a pile of snow toppled from his crown and onto his lap. This wasn’t working and deep down, he was certain Victor knew that. His fists trembled. He didn’t have much more time…

Two weeks ago, as soon as their meeting concluded, he’d attacked his weight problem head on, training tirelessly with Phichit and Michele. He’d resisted the many delicacies of the capitol’s restaurants and the mouth-watering aromas that drifted from the kitchens, keeping on a strict, protein rich regimen. With the fitness and dietary changes combined, he managed to drop several pounds in a small window. The moment the scale confirmed this, he’d sprinted to the rink where he knew Yuri and Victor would be practicing that day with hopeful eyes, adrenaline pumping.

“Victor!” he cried, sliding onto the ice without blades and skidding to a wobbly stop just before him. “I did it!” he cheered into those soft aqua eyes, desperately seeking some ghost of approval. “I’m back to my normal weight!”

 

“Hm.” Victor considered him for what seemed like ages before giving an impressed whistle through pursed lips. Yuuri’s cheeks reddened.

“You look good, Yuuri.”

Yuuri scratched the back of his head, eyes drawing down. “Ah… thank you. I—”

“I guess it’ll do." Victor tapped his foot on the ground rhythmically and suddenly a curious smile curled over his lips. “Now for the temple!”

Yuuri blinked. “The temple?”

So began Victor’s reign of torture. If it wasn’t the warning stick, he was made to lug supplies and refreshments across the rink for Victor and Yuri. If he didn’t have to do pushups until he felt light-headed and dizzy, it was pirouettes until the point of vomiting. It seemed Yuuri did everything but actually work toward his development as Primaja, either an errand boy or a source of constant and cruel amusement. He thought perhaps of talking to Elder Feltsman, but the older man seemed so stern and callous when they’d crossed paths in the halls once that the words had crumbled on Yuuri’s lips. What’s more, he never visited the rink. The elders stayed busy more often than not— they were elders after all— and he figured the J.J situation kept them on their toes. Yakov and the rest seemed more than willing to leave him in Victor’s hands. Did they have any idea about Victor’s approach to coaching him? Would they care once they knew of his shortcomings?

Yuuri didn’t have the answers to either of these questions so he remained silent and depended solely on his own attempts and Victor’s mercy. He used the praise rooms endlessly and roamed the library corridors late into the night seeking anything that might assist with his situation. He began to watch Victor and Yuri practicing ancient dances he’d never seen and ice manipulations he’d never been able to forge with a growing envy in the short moments before they caught him staring. Yuri occasionally shot him a smug sneer or an obscene gesture and Victor… Victor let him.

Yuuri became convinced that this wasn't Victor. Not this bully, this cruel trickster under the guise of grace and a faux grin. That he would wake and all this would be revealed to be a nightmare. Or more realistically, that Victor was justly being hard on him because he wanted him to succeed. This was a test. Not an aging Primaja worried over losing his crown to a mediocre dancer from Hasetsu. Yuuri believed these things so as not to be distracted. So that he could go on trying. So that he wouldn't cry himself to sleep at night.

One week remained and his accomplishments amounted to pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion and making excellent time on coffee and tea deliveries from the kitchens. Victor hadn't even addressed his inability to summon ice save for silly exercises like the one he currently suffered.

"Hey pig!" Yuri called and he flinched. "I'm hungry!" Yuuri looked up reluctantly to see the blond skating his way and attempted a meager grin. If this really was a test, he had to pass and for that, he couldn't show any weakness.

Yuri skidded to a halt just short of him, sending a spray of ice and dirt directly into his face. Grimacing, Yuuri reached up to wipe the mess from his features with already damp hands.

”Why don't you take a break from your training?” Yuri used air quotes for the last word. “You can grab us something from the kitchens.”

Yuuri turned the grimace on him before catching himself. He couldn’t show his frustration. “Sorry Yurio," He used the collar of his shirt to wipe at his forehead. "Victor said I had to sit here for at least an hour."

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!"

"Yurio!" Victor called from across the way. "Are you distracting Yuuri from his training?"

Yuuri couldn't help his lips from curving upward as he watched Yuri seethe at the name, shouting profanities after his mentor. Sure, it was petty, but the teen never hesitated to call him a 'pig' and the name seemed to be the only thing he and Victor agreed on... Yuuri wondered if he took joy in pitting them against one another and his grin wavered a bit.

"And you call this training?!" Yuri ranted on. "We all know you're just wasting time until he admits how useless he is and has to go home." He turned the sneer on Yuuri again and his brief moment of happiness deflated completely. "It's only a matter of time, pig," the boy dealt the finishing blow before skating away, leaving Yuuri covered in ice and dirt once again.

Yuuri picked at the black and clear specks on his t-shirt. Only a matter of time… Groaning in frustration and fatigue, he sank deeper into the ice of the rink, his shoulders slumping over. He stayed that way for the remainder of the morning so tangled in his own tortured thoughts that the weather scarcely bothered him anymore.

Phichit snapped him out of his funk as the late afternoon sun dipped lower beneath the tips of the evergreen trees, tracing them in gold. This was unusual. Phichit missed most of Yuuri's practices on official duty with Chris, sending Michele to look after him instead. Yuuri didn't mind. This way, he didn't have to deal with Yuri's bullying, Victor's cold treatment and his best friend watching it all unfold from the sidelines as well. He much preferred Michele's self-absorbed detachment, always preferring to discuss his own predicament with his sister over whatever humiliating thing just happened to Yuuri on the ice. Georgi, Victor's guard, seemed more preoccupied with his cellphone, messaging away or stalking his girlfriend on social media. Otabek, as usual, stood quietly. He didn't outwardly approve of his ward's behavior, but he didn't condemn it either. Yuuri caught him staring more than once and it unnerved him.

“Yuuri!” Phichit waved as he made his way across the snowy grounds with Mila at his side, long black guard’s coats swirling around them.

"Phichit!" Yuuri slid easily into the weak grin as he had for the past couple of weeks. He patted the space beside him on the bench where he’d been enjoying his afternoon break, thankful for some relief from Yuri’s taunts and Victor’s trials.

"Hey!" Phichit called with his usual energy. "Chris gave us a break and we thought we'd come down and see what the ‘chosen’ were up too! How’s training?" He sidled up beside him and Yuuri was grateful for the warmth.

“It’s going great,” Yuuri lied. “I’m learning a lot!”

"Hey Yuuri!" Mila beamed down on him. “Plisetsky’s not giving you a hard time is he?”

“Oh, no,” Yuuri assured her through gritted teeth. “Not really…”

“Well, if he does, you let me know.” She folded her arms, searching around the rink. “Otabek is way too soft on him. Where are those two anyway?”

“They’re on the other end.” Yuuri motioned to a small tented area with a few benches beneath the canvas. Yuri spoke animatedly to Otabek and Victor sat just one bench down, staring absentmindedly at the wood in the distance. He caught Yuuri's gaze for a moment and immediately looked downward. Yuri said something else and they all laughed suddenly, their shoulders quaking. Yuuri wondered if the joke came at his expense.

“I’m going to check in on him.” Mila started in their direction, scaling the edge of the rink.

Phichit scanned the area briefly before frowning at him. “Where’s Michele?”

“I think he got some kind of alert about his sister?” Yuuri shrugged. “He said he’d be back in a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Phichit sighed and then his expression changed. “Hey Yuuri?”

Yuuri tensed. “Yeah?”

“How come you never eat lunch with them?”

Yuuri’s stomach clenched into knots. I don’t think I’m allowed. “Ah, I just prefer to eat alone sometimes.” Yuuri's gaze dropped to his feet, unable to meet his friend’s eyes, and toyed with the empty container that held his turkey sandwich just an hour ago. He still felt hungry, but Victor seemed to watch his weight closer than he did…

Phichit frowned. “I know it’s not the easiest for you to open up to new people, Yuuri, but you guys need to be close so you can support one another.”

 _Why don’t you tell them that?_ Yuuri fidgeted about uncomfortably, the conversation and the cold both giving him chills.

“You never know what’s going to happen,” Phichit went on, folding his hands and then squeezing them. “You might have to…” he trailed off, his brow creasing. “Have they told you about anything new?” he asked. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Yuuri’s features wrinkled in confusion and he turned to face Phichit, eyes questioning. “No?”

“Ah,” Phichit laughed, a nervous, concealing one. Yuuri would recognize the type anywhere. “Nevermind then.” He patted his back. “Everything will be fine, Yuuri. You just need to—” He stared down at the spot where his fingers fell on Yuri’s pale, bare collarbone. “Where’s your coat anyway?”

“Oh um,” Yuuri stammered. “Victor says I should try practicing without it. To help me summon the element.” It sounded ridiculous actually coming out of his mouth and apparently, Phichit felt the same.

“That’s a strange method.” Phichit pulled off his own lengthy, black coat, and adjusted it around Yuuri’s shoulders. “I never needed to be cold to summon the ice.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri shrugged. “Well, I’ll try anything at this point. If I can’t do it in a week, I have to go home.”

Phichit went stiff overhead. After a moment, he sat down with his legs on either side of the bench so that he faced Yuuri directly, dark eyes uncharacteristically serious. “What?”

Yuuri’s nerves flared now, the turkey and bread souring in his stomach. He felt as though he’d told a secret— Victor’s and his. But judging from the pointed look Phichit targeted at him and the firm hold on his wrist, he wasn’t getting out of this one. “Um,” He bit his lip. “Victor told me if I couldn’t summon the ice in a month, I’d have to go home.”

Phichit’s features twisted into shock and then anger. Yuuri gulped, unaccustomed to seeing the emotion on his best friend’s face.

“He can’t do that!”

“W—Well,” Yuuri averted his gaze. “Its not his responsibility.” _If can’t manage it, I’ve failed. That’s no one’s fault but mine._

“It’s exactly his responsibility!” Phichit argued, running his hands down his best friend’s shoulders in comfort. “Oh Yuuri. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Yuuri simply shrugged away. He didn’t want to be comforted for his own screw ups. He should have figured this problem out years ago. Meditated more. Read more sacred texts. Done the damned breathing exercises… “If Victor doesn’t think I’m worth coaching—”

“It’s not about what Victor thinks, Yuuri,” Phichit gave a heavy sigh and pulled his hands away reluctantly. “When the Goddess summons a Primaja, there’s no arguing it. That choice is up to the Goddess and the Goddess alone and it’s everyone else’s job to follow suit.” He stared off into the distance at the tent where Mila goaded Yuri and Victor chuckled. “I can’t believe Victor.”

He knew the feeling.

“Have you told Celestino?”

Yuuri shook his head. Celestino hadn’t managed to help return his magic to him in the past decade. He doubted he could now… “What would he do about it?”  
Phichit stared at him in disbelief. “Yuuri, he’s an Elder!”

Yuuri shrugged again, unable to meet his gaze. He simply pulled the heavy, dark coat in tighter around him. Victor would probably make him remove it, but for now, he appreciated the warmth. Thankfully, a buzzing sound started up, cutting through the silence. Phichit pulled out his phone.

“Chris.” He frowned. “I have to go back. But listen.” He leaned forward, hovering so close to Yuuri that he would feel guilty if he didn’t look up.

“Promise me you’ll tell Celestino.”

Yuuri blinked at Phichit who gazed into him with so much concern he could cry. Why had he told him? “Maybe,” he threw him a bone, hoping desperately that he would leave. When he finally did, with an encouraging grin and coatless, Yuuri let out a long sigh of relief. He knew Phichit meant well, but he couldn’t tell Celestino. He didn’t want anyone making excuses for him. Victor had to know that he could succeed on his ability alone. Not because he had friends in high places…

“Yuuri!” Speak of the devil. The Primaja called out to him ever so sweetly and he glanced up to see him gliding out onto the ice again. This time Mila trailed behind him. Was she staying? Goddess, he hoped not.

Victor stopped just short of him, silver ponytail whipping in a pendulum motion, the lapeled, open ends of his cream pea coat flapping.

“Y— Yeah?” Yuuri stammered, preparing himself for the next ludicrous demand.

Victor cornered him with that beautifully crafted, but cold smile that never quite reached the rest of his face and Yuuri focused on it for a bit. He used to study it ardently from the way his blue eyes crinkled to the soft dip in his cupid’s bow that gave his mouth a heart-like shape. It had seemed warmer then. Less deceiving.

“We need more water for the next round of practice. Will you grab a couple of gallons from the palace?”

Yuuri let out an internal sigh of relief. Just another errand. He could handle that.

“And no coats!” Victor wagged his finger. “How are you supposed to be one with the ice?”

“I don’t feel one with the ice,” he mumbled. More like the ice was becoming one with him, frost biting his phalanges digit by digit.

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Victor muttered lowly, and Yuuri caught the harsh suggestion in the comment. It hung thickly in the chilled air.

He stood from the bench and let the coat slide from his shoulders, ready to make the water run when Mila skated toward him excitedly.

“Yuuri!” she called. “You have to show me what you’ve learned!”

“Uh,” He immediately shrank away. “Maybe some other time.”

“Don’t be shy,” Mila took him by the hands and pulled him back onto the rink. “I know you’re an amazing dancer!”

“Mila,” Victor stepped in with an apologetic grin. “These are sacred dances. The Goddess wouldn’t be pleased with him showing them off to everyone.”

Mila crossed her arms and pouted. “I’m not everyone.” She motioned to the tent where Otabek, Georgi and now Michele lingered. “Those three got to watch him!”

“Watch him do what?” Yuri scoffed as he skidded to a halt at her side. “All he knows how to do is run errands and freeze his ass off. Isn’t that right, Pork Cutlet Bowl?”

Victor gave Yuri a look, the smile evaporated. The boy blinked in return. “What?”

Mila paused abruptly atop the ice and Yuuri nearly collided with her, their hands still joined. “Wait what?” She turned to him, her tone accusatory. “You’ve been dancing, right Yuuri? It’s been almost a month!”

Yuuri’s heartbeat leapt into his throat. “I— I’ve been having…” His hands were trembling again so he relieved her of them, instead folding them at his chest. “Some trouble forging ice so…” He eyed the thick, frosted sheets beneath him to escape her pointed gaze. “I can’t…”

Mila frowned, confusion still furrowing her brow. “So you can’t dance?”

Yuuri shuffled his feet uncomfortably, eyes flitting first to Victor and then to Mila. “Well, technically, I can…”

“Why should Victor teach him anything when he can’t even summon the ice?!” Yuri cut in. “He’s as useful as a non-elemental.”

“Shut up, Yuri,” Mila rolled her eyes at her ward. “I expected this kind of childish bullshit from you.”

“Say that again!” the blond snapped.

“But Victor,” Mila turned her pointed gaze on the Primaja. “You’re not actually refusing to teach him? You don’t think it’ll help?”

Victor paid an unusual amount of attention to his own nails, bangs falling over tired eyes.

“Victor!”

“Mila!” Victor suddenly smiled in a striking mood shift. “As Primaja, it’s my duty to coach Yuuri, isn’t it?”

“Exactly!”

“Then how I coach and the methods I use are my business,” Though the smile remained fixed on his lips, the words were sharp and tinged with unspoken emotion.

Mila simply blinked at him, at a rare loss for words. Yuri nodded in smug agreement.

She finally recovered. “Does Yakov know?”

“Yakov isn’t going to change my mind,” he replied curtly.

“With all due respect… ” She started forward. “What’s gotten into you? I knew you were stubborn, but I didn't realize—”

“Katsuki sir!” Michele was immediately at Yuuri’s side, his hand at his forehead in salute. “Is everything alright here?!”

Yuuri flinched. “Uh, yeah!” He’d long given up trying to get him to call him ‘Yuuri'. “I think so.” His gaze traveled back and forth between Mila and Victor. They both faced the ice, their expressions shadowed.

“It’s fine, Mickey,” Victor finally managed, smiling up from the ground. “Mila was just heading out.”

Mila considered him for a few moments before finally nodding to herself. “I’m telling Yakov.” With that, she turned on her heel and skated away toward the tented area.

Yuri started after her angrily, stopping before the ice ended and bellowing, “YAKOV CAN’T MAKE HIM DO ANYTHING AS POINTLESS AS TEACH THIS PIG!”

She continued to gather her things in silence, stopping only to use her finger to make an obscene gesture at her ward before heading back toward the palace.

He kicked a flurry of ice and snow after her. “AND STAY AWAY, WITCH!”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. Yuri sure seemed bothered by the threat of a simple ‘non-elemental’… He turned his gaze on Victor who eyed the boy with something akin to irritation.

“Yurio, do you want to try the snow meditation method too?” he grinned.

“No…” Yuri took the hint and left Mila to the remainder of her trip without insult. He began practicing some fragment of a dance unknown to Yuuri, the movements impassioned and forceful. Victor didn’t even make a move to distract Yuuri or demand that he cover his eyes. He seemed lost in his own world as he stared after Mila. Was he worried that the elders would force his hand— make him coach Yuuri properly? Was that in their power and if it was, would Victor hate him for it? Yuuri shook his head. This isn’t how he wanted things to be. He wanted to prove to Victor that he was worthy of his lessons. He wanted Victor to coach him because Victor wanted to coach him.  
But if he couldn’t prove his worthiness before the council pressured Victor, Victor might never truly accept him. He had to try now.

 

“Uh…” he started nervously. “V—Victor?”

Victor didn’t respond, his back to him. He went on regardless.

“I’ve told you this before, but I really can dance! Even if I cant summon ice yet, I can still use my energy toward ritual spells…”

Victor said nothing.

“If you just let me try, I know I won’t disappoint you!” The volume in his voice increased as he neared him, so close that he could smell the faint scent of lavender from his coat. “I know my magic will come back. I can feel i—”

“Fine!” Victor spun around so quickly that Yuuri nearly toppled over, his grin almost manic. “I have a test for you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri beamed. Finally! Progress! “Y— You do?!” he asked, trying to ignore the feeling that something wasn’t quite right about Victor’s sudden change of heart. “I mean— great! Whatever it is, I’ll do it!” he proclaimed, both fists taut with anticipation.

“Wonderful,” Victor lilted. “Let me demonstrate the Dance of Might.”

Yuuri’s features fell a bit. Although he’d only seen it performed once or twice and had never performed it himself, the Dance of Might was not a sacred dance reserved for the shrine. Any dancer could learn it. Still, he nodded. This was simply a preliminary test. Once he passed, he could begin the real thing! Smiling to himself, he watched as Victor quieted in first position and then lifted lengthy arms to the sky, stepping outward. He lowered his arms, his hands in fists, before launching into a string of fast, powerful motions. The wind whirled more loudly around them and Yuuri could sense the hum of power emanating from Victor and enlivening the ice of the rink. It seemed to seep upward from the ground and spread to the surface of his skin, though he couldn’t tell if these were the effects of Victor’s magic or his own awe at watching the Primaja perform so closely. Victor embodied every aspect of the dance with his poise, his expression, his movements. All the cruelty and the coolness melted away and he was Yuuri’s idol again, dancing across his TV screen, his bedroom walls, painting his dreams. The dance ended with one fist extended toward the evening sky. Victor steadily lowered the fist to his side, his eyes closed, and then promptly turned back to Yuuri.

“So?” he asked brightly, not one sweat on his brow. “What do you think?”

“Very mighty!” Yuuri exclaimed with starry eyes. He heard Yuri scoff and realized that the boy had stopped practicing to watch them. No matter. Yuuri shook it off. Nothing would distract him from giving his all. “So that’s it? I have to do it just like that?” he asked.

“Well,” Victor tilted his head, one finger tapping at his diving cupid’s bow. “Not quite.”

Yuuri bristled.

“This is a power dance,” Victor explained. “If you can perform it adequately enough to free this pine tree of snow,” He motioned to the largest pine on the grounds, the one whose lofty dark green branches blocked a considerable view of the palace. “,then I’ll begin teaching you the sacred dances.”

Yuuri’s heart seized in his chest, his mouth going dry. “B— But Victor,” he began almost pleadingly. “You have to know that’s not how the Dance of Might works.” Like with any ritual, dancers could not use a dance to display their own power. Save for awakenings, dancers could only use their _element_ to act upon the world around them. Their power at its root was reserved for the Goddess alone. The Dance of Might would channel his strength to the Goddess, but it could not empower Yuuri. “I can’t just control the Goddess’s power—”

“Can you do it or not?” Victor asked, the edge and finality returning to his tone. Yuri snickered at his side.

Yuuri’s feet felt like cement, his head cloudy, as he made his way farther across the rink, closer to the towering pine. He felt as though he walked a death march. Of course he couldn’t do this. No one could do this. It was not the Goddess’s will to clear snow from pine trees and she alone could direct his power. But this was his only chance. He supposed he had to try.

Finding a spot close enough so that the tree remained in plain sight, but far enough so that he wouldn’t near the edge of the rink, he stilled himself and closed his eyes, his dark bangs falling over them. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he placed his palms together and slowly, gently, the Goddess’s power hummed through him.

 _Please_ , he prayed. _If it is your will, please help me._

The power coursed swiftly and more abundantly throughout his body now and the freezing cold seemed to evaporate around him. It was time. He raised his arms to the heavens, the wind roaring in his ears, before launching outward, his eyes sparking open as if charged with electricity. He lowered into the powerful spin just as Victor had done, his eyes searching desperately for the Primaja with every rotation. When he spotted him, his gaze was down. He was talking to Yuri. Yuuri scowled. Dammit!

He leapt forward into a grasping motion, switching his focus onto the pine. Maybe if he just visualized the snow toppling from its branches. Visualized like he did every night to return his magic. He grimaced. Then again, perhaps not. He turned back to watch Victor for a second time. Now the Primaja was checking out his nails. A jolt of anger surged through Yuuri. This was his test, wasn’t it? So why wasn’t he watching?

Yuuri decided to turn the next set of spins into a toe loop, leaving the ground momentarily. When he landed, he caught Yuri eying him briefly but the two were back speaking again within moments. The frustration in Yuuri’s chest began to grow, but rather than fuel his anxiety, it seemed to fuel something else. His power pressed out from his skin like waves and a familiar sensation fell over him, storming and scratching at him from the inside. Begging to be released. His awakening, he realized. This is how he’d felt that night just before it happened, before his power rose up and swallowed him like something possessed. He concentrated as he dipped into another low spin, attempted to keep the power at bay. But it was so strong… He remembered how amazing he’d felt that night, sailing over the ice with eyes he barely recognized. So free. So… powerful.

Before he realized it, the wind around him whirled so harshly that it would have frosted his thinly veiled body over immediately were it not for the Goddess’s protection. Its howl screamed loudly in his ears and he could make out little else. His feet moved over the ice almost mechanically, eyes glazed over. The wind swept snow flurries up from the ground, obscuring his view of the field. But he could see him, Victor, stricken at the edge of the rink.

Yuuri smirked. He was watching now.

Keeping their eyes locked, he launched into the final pose, extending one arm above his head, fist high. The moment his fist stilled in the sky, a strong pulse emanated through out the field and he rocked forward nearly stumbling to his knees. Splitting, cracking and thunderous quakes filled his ears. But the wind ceased to howl all at once, letting the snow drift back slowly onto the ground as if nothing had ever happened. Little by little, the spell fell away and the scene seemed peaceful again until he realized in horror that the ice beneath them had shifted, long streaks threading out and veining along its surface.

“Holy shit!” Yuri cried, eyes wide as he scrambled backwards off of the splintering ice on his hands and feet. “What the fuck did he just do?!”

Victor just stared past him with wide, unguarded eyes, feet still planted on the same spot, unconcerned with the steadily cracking ice.

Yuuri blinked for a moment and then, in a sudden epiphany, spun around to face the pine. He gasped. Not only had he removed the snow from the tree, but he had also pulled up several of its roots. And that was more than he could say for some of the surrounding trees that now bent toward the ground or fell onto their sides. His breath caught in his throat. On one hand, this would be hell for the groundskeeper to clean up. But on the other hand… A maddened grin slipped over his lips.

“Victor!” He turned back around, his arms held high. “Victor! I did it!”

Victor’s gaze fell on him now, his lips turned under, shoulders sagging.

“V— Victor…” he stammered, his features falling, the ground suddenly unsteady beneath him.

With that, Victor turned from him without a word and began to skate away.

Yuri, still splayed on the ground, blinked at Yuuri with wide eyes and then up at Victor. “H— Hey! Where the hell are you going?!”

Yuuri watched in disbelief as his idol’s silhouette grew smaller and smaller. He’d went above and beyond, given everything he had and still, Victor turned his back on him. What about his promise? All of the exhaustion and emotional drain, not just from the last five minutes, but from the past three weeks seemed to rush over Yuuri at once and he fell forward onto his knees, unable to keep the tears from brimming at his eyelids.

“Victor!” he called again, letting all of the pain and hurt and confusion meld with his voice. “VICTOR!”

Victor disappeared somewhere in the backdrop of the grounds and he sank down, his forehead touching the ice, fists pounding the ground and clenching together so roughly that he drew blood. Yuri continued to stare at him for a while and he waited, expecting another cruel remark, but the boy only stood to his feet with shaky legs and Otabek’s help. With a few more bewildered glances, they made their way toward the palace with Georgi in tow, all speaking of what had just taken place in hushed, hurried tones.

He vaguely heard footsteps nearby and a shadow fell over him.

“L—Lord Katsuki,” Michele saluted. “I— I can escort you back to the palace. It’s not safe on the ice after you… um—“

“Just go,” Yuuri muttered into the ice in a defeated tone. “I know how to get back.”

Michele shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

“Please _go._ ”

Yuuri wasn’t sure if Michele took mercy on him or received his words as a threat, but regardless, he agreed to leave and watch him from a distance.

Yuuri remained, staring in numb curiosity as his tears fell and blended with the cracks in the ice. He’d danced perfectly, hit every beat, struck every pose, added a jump, managed not to screw it up and done the impossible in summoning the Goddess’s might for his own purposes. What had he done wrong? He gritted his teeth, fingernails pressing new crescents into his palms. _What had he done wrong?!_

He sat there, repeating the words in his mind over and over for what might have been hours. He couldn’t feel his knees or his elbows and he registered faintly that the sky had gone black. A faraway voice in the back of his mind told him it might be a good idea to start walking back to the palace. He didn’t have to consider the thought for much longer.

“Hey.” Something whacked him upside the head and he cringed, looking up with groggy features to see familiar green orbs peering down at him.

“You?” Yuuri’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze trailed over the tiger printed windbreaker.

“Yeah, yeah” Yuri rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. “Otabek thought we should check on you or whatever.”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were going to the arcade.”

Yuri clenched his teeth and shot his guard a dirty look. “Don’t get the wrong idea, pig.” He glowered down on Yuuri. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t destroying more palace property.” He sneered. “You know you have to pay a fine for that, right?”

“Is that so?” Yuuri asked absentmindedly, the numbness still creeping over him. Otabek held out a hand to him and he begrudgingly took it, reluctant to leave the little safe haven he’d created.

“How in the hell did you do that anyway?” Yuri asked, watching as the teen pulled Yuuri up. “That was crazy! I can’t believe Victor just walked away!”

Yuuri couldn’t help letting a chuckle pass his lips. For once, he had something in common with the boy…

“Hey, don’t get cocky, pig!” Yuri snapped. “I’m still a better Primaja than you any day! No matter how much freaky occult magic you use!”

Yuuri just shrugged, suddenly desiring nothing more than to return to his bedroom in the palace where he could shower, be warm and numb the day’s events with sleep. “I don’t know how I did it.”

“Weird,” Yuri whispered, eyes peering down at the snow as they walked, their steps leaving shallow prints in the glistening mounds. He shuffled a bit. “You hungry or something?”

Yuuri started to say no when his stomach growled at the suggestion alone.

Yuri pulled a bun wrapped in white paper from the large pocket at the center of his windbreaker. Yuuri recognized it as the same type of bun that Otabek brought him a few weeks back. A piroshki, they called it.

“We got an extra one by mistake,” Yuri shrugged. “We were just gonna throw it away so I guess you can have it if you want.”

“Oh…” Yuuri stared down at the bun, disarmed by the blond’s change in attitude. “Thanks Yu—“

“Just take it!” Yuri pressed, forcing the bun into his hands. He then watched him from the corner of his eye like a vulture until Yuuri took a bite out of it. He hoped to the Goddess that it wasn’t poisoned.

“So?” Yuri asked, pokerfaced.

The salty and savory flavors exploded on his tongue and he hummed in satisfaction, going in for more, the hypothetical poison forgotten. “It’s good!”

“Right?” Yuri gave him a genuine grin and Yuuri couldn’t help being a little terrified. “My grandpa made it! He’s the best cook in the palace!”

Yuuri lowered the bun from his lips and blinked at Yuri. “Your grandpa works in the kitchens?”

Those happy features twisted in a scowl and Yuuri gulped. “YEAH! AND HE'S FUCKING GOOD AT IT! WHAT ABOUT IT?!”

“Oh nothing,” Yuuri couldn’t help smiling as they neared the iron door that led into the back corridors of the palace. He was so exhausted and the boy’s temper was so unpredictable, it was almost amusing.

“He doesn't have to work technically,” Yuri went on, calmer now. “The capitol takes care of us with so many Primaja in the family tree. But he likes it.” The smile slipped back over his lips.

“I see…” Yuuri watched him tentatively. It must have been helpful to grow up with a Primaja for a mother. He could only imagine that Yuri must be ages ahead of him in experience. And according to Minako, their Primaja status wasn’t the only thing they had in common…

_If his mother is any indication, that Plisetsky kid is a little shit._

Yuuri smiled. Minako, eccentric as she could be, was rarely wrong… “I’ll have to have dinner with your family sometime,” He grasped the handle of the iron plated door and held it open for the two younger men to pass through. “Your mother was a great Primaja! I’d love to meet her.”

Yuri turned and gave him a curious look. Finally, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah right, pig," he snorted, passing through the door on Otabek's heels, the hint of a smile returning. “Like I’d ever let you near them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to write the next chapter. Woo boy... Hope you enjoyed! Tell me what you think :D


	8. The Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is WAY TOO LONG! UGH!
> 
> I decided to post a bit early this week! Thank you guys for your comments! Even though most of them were Victor bashing! It’s okay. I totally get it. I’m glad you guys care so much about Yuuri <3 As you should! He must be protected!

“Introducing!” the master of ceremonies began in a loud, booming voice from the sound booth. “The Hasetsu Primaja: Katsuki Yuuri!”

The ballroom roared with applause, the sound reverberating off of the white satin draped walls and rising to the arching ceilings. Colorful spotlights trailed over the entire chamber, from the crystal chandeliers to the marble floors, flooding the room in hues of amethyst and sapphire blue. They adjusted to center on him and Yuuri's breath caught in his throat, cheeks burning as every eye in the lavish hall fell on him. The indecipherable chatter and clinking of glasses all silenced for this one moment. He nodded shyly at the sea of faces and then descended the main staircase, paying close attention to his footing so that he wouldn't trip over the traditional robes. Soft, silken azure cloth with seams edged in silver cloaked his form, a sash wrapped tightly at his waist. The wide sleeves cascaded down on either side of him, trailing the velvety staircase.

“He’s beautiful!”

"Over here, Katsuki!"

“Katsuki! An interview on the episode at the outdoor palace rink?!”

Yuuri listened to all of this with disinterest. Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel and exit from where he came. He’d never been one for parties— especially parties that forced him to mingle with Victor and Yuri. The elders would insist they spend time together and the media would demand it, crowding them in tightly for photo ops and interviews… For exhibitions. He’d purposefully come late, hoping to avoid the bulk of the event. Given the choice, he would have skipped it altogether, but to do so would be akin to blasphemy.

The Quarter Ball was an illustrious event held every three months just before the Primaja performed at the shrine. It was a celebratory dance, a mark of good fortune toward the Goddess and her chosen. The event required the presence of all palace officials— especially the next Primaja in line. So he’d let Mila talk him into using her best seamstress, washed up, combed his hair back and here he was.

A mere four days had passed since he’d made chaos of the palace grounds. Victor hadn't mentioned where they would practice now that he'd decimated the ice field and Yuuri couldn't find him at any of the other palace rinks. In fact, he hadn't spoken to Victor since the incident. Yuuri spent most of his time freaking out, his anxiety growing to such massive proportions that he could barely concentrate on dancing at all. Today, however, a different feeling settled over him. A numbness that might have been concerning if he wasn't too exhausted to care.

"Yuuri!" A long haired woman in cream colored robes inscribed with lilac dahlias accosted him the moment he reached the bottom of the staircase, haphazardly pushing through a score of reporters and onlookers to get to him. "You look amazing!"

  
"Minako!" His face lit up. "I didn't know you were back in the capitol!"

"Of course I'm back in the capitol, silly!" she slurred. Drunk again. "I couldn't miss my star student's first Quarter Ball!" She winked. "I heard you've been busy."

News about the defaced palace grounds had spread over the capitol like a snowstorm and it didn't take long for its citizens to fill in the blanks. He'd gathered quite the reputation for destroying public property at this point.

"Yeah." He sighed, folding his arms into himself. "I don't know how it happened." He lowered his voice, suddenly self conscious with at least half of the ballroom's eyes on him. "I shouldn't have been able to direct the Goddess's power like that."

"Well," Minako drew the word out, her eyes rolling up toward the ceiling. "You still can't summon the element, right?" she asked. "Maybe your power is compensating for it."

Yuuri blinked, dumbfounded. He hadn't thought of that.

"Aw," She patted his cheeks. "Don't worry so much, Yuuri! It's a celebration!" With that, she plucked two flutes of sparkling champagne from the platter of a passing waitress and handed one to him before lifting her own. "Cheers!"

He took it without any coaxing, toasting with a weak grin and then immediately gulping a third of it down. Liquor. Of course. That’s how he would survive tonight. He wouldn't overdo it— Goddess knows how that would play out— but a few glasses should take the edge off...

Minako chugged the entire flute down and gave a loud, satisfied sigh to the chagrin of anyone in the vicinity. A few onlookers cleared their throats, staring down their noses at her and she turned a defiant scowl on them in turn.

“Minako…” Yuuri chided, but he couldn't help smiling inwardly. Minako wasn't the most popular of Primaja. She didn't play by the rules.The capitol had an affinity for keeping the chosen forever pure and inaccessible in the eyes of the world, discouraging them from public interaction even long after their tenure, but Minako wouldn't have any of it. Unlike the majority of Primaja, she didn't live a remotely private life and she certainly didn't care for anyone's opinion on that.

"Have you met Andrez?!" she asked with heavily lidded eyes. She pulled a burly, tanned man to her side, an unspoken secret in the curve of her lips.

"Lord Katsuki.” The man bowed with a goofy grin and Yuuri instantly recognized him as 1. The head of palace security and 2. Indisputably drunk. Yuuri frowned. Was this safe?

"We're going to go do something fun," Minako drawled, poking Yuuri's chest and emphasizing the last word. "I'll tell you when you're older..."

"I'm 23," Yuuri droned, taking another swig of champagne.

“Whatever!" Minako waved, grasping Andrez's muscled arm as they started toward the pillared outline of the ballroom. "You should find Victor. He looks amazing tonight!" She winked.

Yuuri stiffened at the mention of Victor. That was the opposite of what he wanted to do. As though attempting to escape the name itself, he started deeper into the ballroom, smiling artificially as countless partygoers waved at him, begging to shake his hands— from bored nobles in fine linens and sparkling baubles to a few ecstatic townsfolk who had been lucky enough to win an invite to the most distinguished event of the year. Ice dancers and non-elementals seemed to dominate the crowd here— not a firestarter in sight— and a small, stubborn part of him felt grateful for that. He was also grateful for the dim, color tinged light of the room that obscured him, the pulse of drums and the swell of violins and cellos giving him an excellent excuse lest anyone attempted to call to him in the crowd. For the most part, he kept his eyes down at the white marble floor, the blue of his robes dancing across the surface. After plucking another champagne flute from a passing waiter, he found a safe spot, cushioned between a lonely pillar and a table littered with aromatic refreshments, blends of spicy and sweet blending in a delicious harmony. Sighing, he leaned back against the satiny walls, watching the upper class exchange boasts and gossip. He felt that perhaps he didn't belong in this world with its extravagant chambers and lofty business. With its secrets... He thought of Hasetsu, the cozy living room, the old, lived in sofas and his parents' smiles. Yuko's laugh. His fingers wrapped around his pendant, cool against his chest, and squeezed. He missed them.

No longer able to stand it, he reached for one of the skewered, browned morsels from the tray before him. Screw his diet. He was starving and Victor would just send him home in a day anyway... Back to the Eastlands with nothing to show for it and Yuuri couldn't even determine why.

_You still can’t summon the element, right? Maybe your power is compensating for it._

If that were true, did it mean he was that much closer to a break through? Or perhaps it was the Goddess's way of telling him that he didn't need his element to perform her rituals at the shrine. Maybe what she needed right now, more than anything, was raw power. And he'd more than proved he possessed a wealth of it. His eyes grew thoughtful as he bit into the meat, a satisfied smile stretching his lips at the savory burst on his tongue. He wondered... If he explained her theory to Victor, would it change his mind about coaching him?

That still hopeful, but shrinking voice in the back of his mind told him that it was entirely possible. The ever growing numbed outlook that had recently set in told him that he could shoot icicles out of his derriere and it still wouldn't be enough... Still, better to try than skulking back to the Eastlands with his tail between his legs.

"Katsuki Yuuri." He recognized the tone instantly and his stomach dropped what felt like several feet. A familiar face peered at him from the opening of the little nook he'd found, effectively cornering him in. He swallowed hard. Pale skin. Red lips. Refined, black robes.

"Er," he started forward, attempting to walk around her. "I really should go—“

"You destroyed the outside rink, right?" the reporter asked, her raven black hair falling over curious eyes. "Your power is incredible."

"Uh..." He averted his gaze, lifting a hand to massage at his neck. "Thanks."

"Strange isn't it?" she asked, advancing on him, crowding him into the corner. "No Primaja's ever demonstrated that sort of power before."

He chuckled nervously, taking a long swig from his champagne flute. “Y— Yeah I guess."

"And yet," she frowned, surveying him like a cat in the wild. "No elemental prowess."

His fingers wound so tightly around the glass, he could have cracked it as easily as the ice of the palace rink.

"I have to go!" he breathed coarsely, shouldering around her and quickly scaling the outline of the ballroom, from window to wall.

"Lord Katsuki!" Capitol nobles moved to stop him and he pressed on, only pausing to refresh his champagne flute. He just needed peace from her. He didn't understand. She wasn't like the other journalists. Had this woman made it her life's purpose to hound him mercilessly?

"Victor, be reasonable!"

He froze in his tracks.

"All things considered, I think I've been more than reasonable," Victor spoke in a quiet, careful tone. The type that people used when their control was a dying resource.

Yuuri leaned further toward the window, concealing himself in the silver curtains only to find that it wasn't a window at all. Here the ballroom opened to a quaint balcony overlooking the capitol city, the shrine's tendril-like spikes glistening high over the valley in the distance, mosaic roofed homes glowing in the moonlight. Through the square paneled glass doors and the gossamer material, he could make out three figures.

Throaty grumbling. "This isn't about Katsuki. It's about you," Yakov's gravelly voice entered the fray. "You've always been selfish, Vitya."

"How am I being selfish?!" Victor snapped, the control taking a dip unlike Yuuri had ever witnessed from the man. "It isn't fair!" he complained and it sounded almost comical. There was a pause and then, in a softer tone, "It was supposed to be me and Plisetsky."

One of the shadowy figures moved in closer to Victor's and Yuuri recognized it as Celestino's.

"You would put the entire nation at risk over a tantrum?" he asked. "I thought you were more mature than this, Victor. The Goddess has made her choice."

"The Goddess is—“ Victor stopped, catching himself before saying in a succinct, deliberate tone. "It doesn't matter how powerful he is. We don't need Yuuri."

Yuuri's heart sank. _We don't need Yuuri._

The conversation continued on, but those last words played on Yuuri's mind like a stuck record. 

_We don't need Yuuri._

_It doesn't matter how powerful he is._

_We don't need Yuuri._

  
Yuuri rooted in place, shock smothering over his skin, cooling it and bristling the hairs. He let the curtains fall away from his person, leaving him visible to the rest of the ballroom’s interior. The conversation went on, unintelligible to his ears, and if anyone approached him in that moment, they might as well have been greeting a stone wall. He stayed this way until Victor stormed out from the balcony with a set brow and hard fists, silvery hair flowing behind him. He halted when he spotted Yuuri, the whites of his eyes expanding slightly. Yuuri stared back without fear, without his shy, polite smile designed so eagerly to please, thankful for that beautiful numbness.

Minako hadn’t lied. Victor looked gorgeous in the golden trimmed violet robes, form fitting and tapered at the waist, more than gorgeous. He also looked terrified. Seconds passed and then Victor was the one to break contact, turning away and marching out into the crowd. Running away again.

Yuuri's lips twisted downward. Victor hadn't sounded anything like a strict mentor testing his pupil. He hadn't sounded like the most popular and innovative Primaja in known history. Hadn't sounded like he knew what he was doing at all. In fact, Victor sounded scared. Jealous.

  
_It’s not fair. We don’t need Yuuri._

At first Yuuri wanted to cry. He slumped down against the wall, hiding himself in the curtains, and buried his face in his hands. His features twisted, preparing for the flood, but the tears never came. Perhaps he was in shock. Perhaps he had none left to shed. Goddess knew he'd cried enough over the past month. Secondly came the anger, rising and flaring up from his gut into his chest, causing him to hyperventilate. Finally disappointment. A crude, thick disappointment that clung to his insides and settled there molding over treasured memories, staining them. Victor didn't want to help him. Victor didn't even want to give him a chance. This was proof of the terrible truth, the one he'd been struggling desperately to avoid for the past month: That Victor the idol, the muse, the golden prince had been nothing but a figment of his imagination.

Victor Nikiforov was simply a dancer whose unearned power had hit its expiration date. A terrified man with everything to lose. And Yuuri was his worst nightmare. Yuuri. The roil of anger and disappointment swirled so harshly he could barely stand it before finally manifested into something new, something... empowering. A manic grin broke through the numb to spread over his lips. Victor Nikiforov was scared of him. Victor Nikiforov was _jealous_ of him.

Yuuri downed the rest of his third glass in one gulp and it tingled deep in the pit of his stomach. Victor wanted to be jealous? He'd give him something to be jealous about.

"Yuuri!"

He pulled the curtains back to see Phichit rushing toward him in sunset orange robes.

“Is that you under there?” Phichit’s brow furrowed. "What are you doing crouched down like that?"

"Hey Phichit," he greeted him almost mechanically as he stood, eyes darting about the hall for the closest waiter. He couldn't process this sober. "You told Celestino?"

Phichit's grin wilted. "Well..." His eyes skimmed the ground. "Yeah, but only because I knew you wouldn't say anything. I didn't mean to betray—“

"It's fine," Yuuri cut in, spotting a waiter a few heads away and waving him over. "Victor isn't going to coach me anyway," he revealed, swiping an entire champagne bottle and a flute from the platter to the server's dismay.

Phichit seemed conflicted between focusing on his words or his actions. “Wh— What do you mean he's not going to—“

"Let's have a toast!" Yuuri announced a bit too loudly, filling the flute with champagne and handing it to his best friend. "This one's yours. Cheers!" He took a swig from the bottle before Phichit could even raise his glass.

"Yuuri..." Phichit blinked, dumbfounded, and pulled out his phone. "You sure you wanna do this here? I mean, there's the Primaja Exhibition later and—”

"I can do all the dances," Yuuri bragged before practically merging his lips to the mouth of the bottle. "You know. You've seen it!"

"I've seen it," Phichit humored him, hands folding over his shoulders. He led him toward the darkened, pillar trailed corridor that outlined the ballroom. "Yuuri, as much as I want to watch this play out, I think you need to sit down."

They settled on a cream colored, plush loveseat for a while, watching the night pass by. Phichit attempted several times to steal the champagne bottle to no avail.

"Phichit..." Yuuri started, eying the bottom of the bottle as he rotated it, the last remaining champagne circling the glass.

"Yeah Yuuri?"

"Victor..." he started, tears edging at his eyes. "Victor is an asshole."

"You shouldn't say things like that," Phichit whispered, one hand curved over his mouth, eyes floating over the curious crowd. "People are watching."

"If he thinks," Yuuri leaned forward, clinging onto Phichit's shoulders, eyes burning. "I'm just gonna go back to Hasetsu, he's got another thing coming!" He rose from bench, the champagne bottle raised high. "MORE WINE!"

Phichit slapped a hand to his forehead. "Yuuri, that's champagne!"

A confused looking waitress in short black and white robes passed by, her fingers hesitant as she handed the burgeoning Primaja a glass of rose colored wine. He downed it in one gulp and then immediately switched the glass out for the decanter on her platter. "Mm- thanks," he mumbled, sipping from the decanter.

He noticed the growing audience gathering around him, all gaping as though he'd grown a second head. He hiccuped, finding he didn't care much at all. It was freeing in a way. Now where was Victor?

"Yuuri!" Mila called, approaching him in long, flowy off the shoulder robes of emerald green. Her expression lit up in amusement as she peered into his glazed eyes. "Are you drunk?"

"Of course he's drunk," a very unamused Seung-gil glowered at him from her side. Yuuri just took a swig of wine and then shook both the champagne bottle and the decanter like marimbas, hips swaying softly to some beat unknown.

Seung-gil turned on Phichit. "Chulanont, what's going on here?" he demanded. "And why are you filming it?"

Phichit's brow tinged with sweat from behind the phone. "I couldn't help myself..."

"That's it," Yuuri slurred. "Mm ready."

"Ready for what?" they all asked.

"Yuuri!" someone cried in a panicked tone and he turned to see Celestino pushing his way through the crowd in traditional elder’s robes, striped grey and navy. "What are you doing?!” He took him by the shoulders. "The Exhibition is in an hour. Why did you drink so much?!"

Yuuri shook his head. "We're not doing it in an hour," he muttered before draining most of the decanter. "We're gonna do it right," He slammed the champagne bottle against the pillar to his left and the body of the glass splintered into hundreds of tiny pieces. "NOW!" He climbed atop the marble base that supported the pillar, letting the decanter tumble to his feet where Michele narrowly caught it. The audience gasped, a few nobles taking precautionary steps backwards.

"What's he doing?!"

"He's going to destroy the ballroom like he did the grounds!"

"He's dangerous!"

Yuuri ignored all this, eyes vigilantly searching for his target in the thickening crowd. He finally found him at dead center, staring up at him with baffled eyes. Bingo.

"You!" Yuuri raised the broken bottle to point directly at a small huddle in the crowd. "I challenge you." A goofy smile slipped over his lips. "To a dance off!"

"What the hell?" Yuri snarled under his breath, bunching the long loose sleeves of his snow leopard printed robes in his hands. "What's up with him?!"

"Liquid courage, I'd say," Chris snickered from his right, his own turquoise robes a little too loose under his sash, the chest and thighs falling open. "Poor thing's going to be mortified tomorrow." He turned to the man at his side. "Go easy on him, huh Victor?"

Victor watched the spectacle with large eyes, his arms folded. He dropped his gaze to the blond, a smile slipping over his lips. "Well, what are you waiting for, Yurio?"

Yuri snapped around to scowl at him. "You actually expect me to go out there?!" he roared. "How do you know he's even pointing at me?!"

Victor raised an eyebrow. " _You_ refusing a challenge?"

"Huh?!" Yuri demanded as if he’d been hurled the greatest insult. "Of course not!" he barked, his fists clenched as he stormed through the crowd. "I'll destroy him!"

Chris leaned into Victor, one elbow balancing on his shoulder. "You're gonna let him get shown up by a 14-year-old in front of everyone?" His lips tugged downward. "That's pretty heartless, even for the new you."

Victor shrugged, surveying Yuuri with thoughtful eyes. "I wouldn't be so quick to call it."

Yuuri watched as the blond entered the clearing, Chris, Victor and Otabek trailing behind him. His challenge hadn't been for Yuri, but it didn't matter. He wasn't worried.

"Yurio!" he exclaimed happily.

"Shut up, pig!" Yuri growled. "I can't believe you dragged me into this!" His fingernails bit into the marble of the pillar base where Yuuri stood. "I won't let you off easy so get ready to cry again!"

"If I win!" Yuuri announced, completely unfazed. "I'm the next Primaja!"

Phichit let out a low whistle. "Pretty sure that's not how it works."

Yuri scoffed. "Okay fine whate- hey!" he cried, features twisting in disgust. "What the hell are you doing?!"

“C—can't dance in this, " Yuuri mumbled.

The audience gasped as Yuuri undid the sash of his robes and began shrugging out of them, down to a thin black tank top and speedos.

"Yuuri, no!" Phichit screamed from behind his cameraphone.

"Okay," Yuuri nodded, tying the belt sash around his forehead and then giving Phichit's phone the peace sign. "Now I'm ready!" He motioned to the band on the second level of the ballroom and each member stared back at him in disbelief. "PLAY THE MUSIC!"

The musicians exchanged awkward glances before shrugging and beginning a steady, impromptu drum beat, the horns and strings joining in time.

"FASTER!" the blossoming Primaja declared and they sped up.

Yuri began immediately, starting strong with a high aberesque, leaping forward and descending in a perfect spin. Their audience applauded and he bowed, blond tresses falling over his eyes.

He turned to sneer at Yuuri. "Pork Cutlet Bowl probably can't even get up the momentum to—“ Yuuri began his comeback before he could finish the sentence and the words died on his lips, his mouth falling open cartoonishly.

Yuuri wasn't dancing- at least not like a Primaja should. His movements weren't dripping with grace and elegance but rather suavity and sensuality. He moved in ways Yuri had rarely seen let alone learned, tight hips rolling under the thin black material, shoulders moving in time with the beat. What's more, he was performing some sort of acrobatic technique on the floor that Yuri hadn't the first clue how to replicate. The audience roared.

"H- Hey!" Yuri stammered. "G- Get off the floor!"

"What's the matter?" Yuuri asked, finishing his set with a hand hop and settling back onto the ground. "You wanna quit?"

"I NEVER QUIT!" Yuri growled, features seething with disdain. He performed his comeback, adding more perfectly poised leaps and spins that all received a lukewarm reception from their audience. Yuuri followed up with more of the same, receiving thunderous applause and shocked assertions. Every smartphone and news camera focused on him, leaving Yuri lonely on his end of the arena.

"Wow Yuuri!" Mila cried. "You're amazing!"

Georgi watched thoughtfully. "I wonder if I danced like that would Anya take me back..."

As the time drew on, something strange began to happen. Yuri gradually abandoned his own traditional technique and began copying Yuuri, offering weak imitations of his moves. Yuuri only smirked, knowing he could never compete.

Funny thing about growing up in the Eastlands. Their people gained the ever growing sympathy of the realm with their reputation: The dark wastelands where firestarters gathered and roamed freely without the restrictions of the capitol. Where ice elementals and non-elementals hid daily from passing tribes. But it wasn't all bad. Eastland children learned things that Westland babies like Yuri had never witnessed in their entire lives. Adults discouraged it, of course, but when the fire tribes passed through, dancing and singing of their god, the children of the Eastlands couldn't help but stare in curiosity from their hiding spots behind curtained windows and doors left ajar. He and Yuko certainly had been no exception, watching ardently from Minako's dance studio when she wasn't around, watching the curve of the women's backs as they bent, the switch of their hips. Learning. They made fun that they mocked the fire folk as they integrated the technique into their own dances, rhythmically swaying and strutting over the wood boarded floors. A lie to comfort themselves, to keep their faith pure. They danced this way because it was fun, because it was captivating enough to bring entire arenas, awed, to their knees.

"He dances like a fire heathen," Seung-gil snarled in distaste.

"I know!" Chris patted him on the back to his dismay, a coquettish grin on his lips. "Isn't it amazing?! Reminds me of childhood," he added, a blatant attempt to aggravate. He moved forward and kneeled next to Yuri who had just attempted a headspin, falling and nearly cracking his neck. "I think you lose, kid." He offered his hand. "I'll tap you out before you hurt yourself."

Yuri forced himself from the ground, green eyes burning with humiliation and rage as he stomped out of the clearing, his hair in a disarray, robes half undone. Otabek started after him and he batted him away.

"Bye Yurio!" Yuuri waved, watching Victor's reaction as his prized student marched off in a frenzy. Victor stared back into him with curious eyes and that manic grin returned to Yuuri's lips. "I won!" he cheered, jumping up and down, raising the broken champagne bottle over his head like a trophy. "Whose next?!"

"I'll go," Chris volunteered with a smirk, slinking his already loose robes from his shoulders.

Chris at least eclipsed Yuuri in the naked category, dancing in nothing but his underwear. They scaled the ballroom's highest and thinnest pillar, performing acrobatics in midair. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yuuri registered that this was a taboo sport, popular with fire folk, and as Primaja, he perhaps shouldn't have been practicing it in a room full of capitol nobles. The front of his mind screamed YOLO and drowned his thoughts further in a blend of liquor and adrenaline. Elder Baranovskaya had already attempted to sic her guard on him, but Seung-gil couldn't reach him this high up. What were they going to do? Shoot him down? He was the next Primaja!

By the time Chris finally slid downward from exhaustion, Yuuri's anticipation frothed so wildly in his gut that he couldn't contain it any longer. It had to be now. He stretched sideways across the pole and leaned back, using only his thighs to grip it, and tossed one hand up in victory.

"I win again!" he announced. Sitting up, he let himself slide down the pillar, slowing once he neared the bottom. He climbed down Chris's tall, muscled frame as if he were a tree and planted his feet on the ground, eyes seeking his final target. When he spotted him, he extended his index and thumb fingers, aiming them like a gun.

"Bam!" He picked the silver haired man out of the crowd and Victor's eyes widened. “You’re next."

"Whew..." Chris made his way back into the crowd, wiping a sheen of sweat from his bare chest and brow with his robe. “The man’s got stamina.” He winked at the Primaja. ”Good luck, Victor."

Yuuri watched as Victor's gaze flit to Chris momentarily and fury peeked through the cracks of his numbed subconscious, reeling in his gut like a tempest.

"Look at me!" he cried and a force pressed over the room, dimming the overhead lights and raising the hairs of his audience. The hall silenced instantly and only Yuuri's footsteps could be heard as they clapped against the marble floors.

“I’m talking to you," he said, softer now, the feeling submerging again buried somewhere beneath the numbness and alcohol. "Look at me." He pressed his palms against Victors cheeks, the touch sending electric sparks through his fingers, and willed him to face him. Victor let Yuuri guide his focus without a fight.

“I'm looking at you,” Victor responded with amused eyes, an unspoken “so what now?” in his tone.

"So dance with me," Yuuri purred, the sash slumping over his eyes. He pulled it back up and peeked from underneath. "If I win, I get to be Primaja!" He jabbed a finger into Victor's chest. "And you have to coach me."

“I see.” Victor chuckled softly, eyes glinting. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Yuuri stared, almost losing himself in the pale blue of his eyes. "Can you do it or not?"

Victor half-snorted, his fingers falling over his lips. "Okay."

He'd barely gotten the word out when Yuuri wrestled him by the arm and dragged him toward the clearing. The music began again, fast and spirited, and Yuuri began stepping in time, his hips swaying from side to side. He began a detailed step sequence, his feet moving expertly over the marble before seductively lowering to the ground and letting his hips carry him back up. The audience clapped and hooted, a chant beginning. "Yuu- ri! Yuu- ri! YUU-RI!"

Victor watched him with attentive eyes the entire time. When it was his turn, his expression mellowed and he slipped his hands up his form, starting with his toned hips and ending at his crown, fingers slipping through his silver tresses. A few people squealed from the crowd. He then stepped forward and began his own sequence, graceful , but sensual. He ended with a dramatic twirl, the skirts of his robes flaring out all around him. Suddenly, he fell forward, arms spread like an angel, eyes closed. A chorus of gasps echoed through out the ballroom. Victor reached one poised hand forward, palm catching the ground. He pushed himself onto his side, flipping his hair and winking at the crowd. They went wild.

"Vic-tor! Vic-tor! VIC-TOR!"

Yuuri gawked, mouth agape. What a cool trick!

"Yuuri its your turn!" Phichit cried from the sidelines.

"YUU-RI! YUU-RI!"

Yuuri snapped out of it, launching into a new dance, his movements even more forceful, more passionate than before. Chris had likely taught Victor a thing or two, but it was no matter. He beat Chris. He'd beat Victor too. He ended with a sultry strut, leaping and then dipping into a full split. Their audience went wild.

Victor clapped along with the crowd and if Yuuri wasn't so drunk he might have felt condescended to. The Primaja commanded the room’s attention easily, with less power and more ethereal, flawless grace. He finished with a split as well. But he didn't stop there. Supporting himself on his arms alone, he lifted from the ground and extended his legs upward until his body curved and his feet pointed overhead toward the audience.

The crowd screamed with awe and Victor easily lowered himself again and bounced to his feet. He beamed as he turned back to Yuuri a heart growing on his mouth. “This is fun!”

Yuuri pouted. Oh hell no. He wasn't going to lose. He snatched the wine decanter from Michele's hands and drained the remaining third. He had to do something unexpected. Something unexpected. Oh! He knew! His eyes glistened. Racing across the clearing, he grasped Victor by the hand and wrenched him forward, their bodies crashing together. The points where their skin met buzzed like static. Victor winced at the contact and before he could voice the question on his lips, Yuuri dropped him into a low dip, supporting him with one hand at his lower back and the other propelling his leg through the slit in his robes.

Victor's eyes ballooned. "Wow!"

Yuuri jerked him up again, leading him in a tango, their feet moving quickly across the marble. Could Victor keep up? He spun him outward and twirled him in, trapping him with his back to Yuuri's chest, so close that Yuuri's chin fit into the crook of his neck. Victor started to turn his head back toward him, the soft, shampoo scented hairs tickling his nose and Yuuri immediately released him, the blush on his features deepening. The tango continued and Victor matched his movements with poise and precision. So Yuuri danced faster, always two steps ahead of Victor, never letting him take the lead. Not that he seemed to be trying in the first place. It felt natural, their energies melding together, that soft electrical hum thrumming just beneath their skin. Step. Spin. Dip. Accelerate. Step. Spin. Dip. Accelerate. Step. Spin. Dip. Accelerate.

The crowd watched in silent anticipation, the only discussion centering around who would slip up first. On the fifth set, Victor placed his foot forward instead of back and Yuuri immediately hooked it with his own, tugging it and causing the Primaja to stumble backward. He let out a tiny cry of surprise and Yuuri leaned forward to embrace him, catching him before his back collided with the marble. The weight proved too much for him at this angle and he tumbled forward himself, hands planted on either side of Victor as they hit the ground, silver hair fanning out over the white, veiny stone.

Silence settled over the room and then, slowly, people began to speak. The whispers were faint, but he could just make them out.

"Yuuri won."

"It was Yuuri!"

"Yuuri did it!"

Yuuri’s heart still thudded wildly from the exertion, the crooked smile curving over his lips again.

“YES!” he cheered, hands shooting up, still straddling the Primaja. “Phichit!” He turned to his best friend. “Did you get that?!”

“I got everything, Yuuri!”

“I did it,” he sang more to himself this time. “I won…” He moved over Victor in a riding motion as though he had saddled a pony and several onlookers gasped. Finally, he leaned over his conquest and Victor blinked back at him with bewildered eyes, his mouth slightly agape.

“What did you think of that, Victor?! Do you still… do you still…” Hate me? The words flashed across his mind and some deeply numbed part of him ached at its core. He thanked the Goddess he was so drunk or it might have killed him. Instead he latched on to this moment, to his newfound glory. That was much easier.

“So admit it,” he murmured, grabbing him by the shoulders. “I beat you, right?” He bounced up and down. “I beat you! I beat you! I beat you!” He leaned down, peering directly into his eyes. “Do you need me _now_ , Victor?”

Victor pressed his hands to his lips, still not speaking.

“Hm?” Yuuri’s eyes widened. Was Victor embarrassed? Was he ashamed now that he had conquered him in front of the entire palace? He shuffled on top of him in discomfort. But wait. Isn’t this what he had wanted? Some sort of retribution?

Victor’s eyes shut and the image unsettled something deep within him, pushed it to the surface. He thought this was supposed to feel good. But it didn’t. It felt terrible. Asshole or not, he didn’t want to hurt Victor!

“Victor,” he whined, dropping down to cuddle him. “Please don’t be upset! Let’s have a rematch, okay?!”

Victor’s shoulders began to tremble and Yuuri gasped, part in horror and part in curiosity. He’d never seen Victor cry before.

“V—” he stammered. He was going to need more liquor for this. “Victor?”

A bright bubbly sound erupted through out the hall and it took him a few seconds to register where it had come from. It grew progressively louder until it filled the entire chamber, echoing musically off of the walls. Yuuri simply stared in awe. He’d never seen Victor cry, but he’d never seen him like this either. Completely different from the mirthless simpers he’d encountered over the past few weeks or the polite chuckles he spared the media, this was pure unabashed laughter. Victor went on and on, his cheeks reddening, his breath wheezing until Yuuri had to wonder what was so funny.

“What is it?” Yuuri frowned, his temple suddenly bulging. “Are you laughing at me?!”

Victor shook his head, shoulders still quaking. “No Yuuri,” he managed, his voice still thick with laughter. He extended his arms upward, hooking them around Yuuri’s neck and pulling him downward. “You beat me,” he gazed directly into his eyes, their faces a mere inch apart. “Congratulations.”

Yuuri blushed fervently. _Thank you…_ “You’re so close,” he murmured instead. But Victor hated him, right? Resented him. Was he hallucinating?

Before he had a chance to process it further, a host of partygoers and flashing cameras filled the clearing, crowding them.

“Katsuki!” a reporter cried. “Just how much did you drink tonight?”

“Yuuri, I’m uploading it right now!” Phichit squealed.

“Vitya!” Yakov barked. “What about the Exhibition?!”

“It’s too late, isn’t it, Yakov?” Elder Lilia Baranovskaya grimaced. “This is a stain on tradition.”

“Katsuki.” Pale skin. Red lips.  “Did we hear you asking Nikiforov to coach you? Are you implying he hasn't been?”

“LET’S SCHEDULE A REMATCH!” Yuri roared.

Yuuri blinked at the chaos, too inebriated to make sense of it. “Huh?”

“Come on, Yuuri.” Victor pushed himself from the ground and took Yuuri by the hand, helping him up. Together, they sprinted toward the outlying hall, Yuuri practically dragging behind him. They crept down the corridor, turn after turn, careful to keep close to the walls. The corridors grew smaller and smaller, darker and darker with each pivot. The stone seemed more worn and the floors less polished until Yuuri got the sense that they’d entered some abandoned part of the castle, an architectural relic of old. Finally, Victor pulled him through a narrow opening and he nearly tripped over a set of stone steps just past the threshold, barely avoiding a wooden crate. The tiny stairwell was cramped and illuminated only by a trail of sconces lining the walls near the stairs.

After shutting the door carefully behind him, Victor leaned back against the stone wall, firelight painting his features, laughter still bubbling up in fits.

“That was amazing, Yuuri,” he sighed when he finally found his voice. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

“In the Eastlands,” Yuuri responded, his chest a mixture of elation at being complimented by _the_ Victor Nikiforov and utter confusion. Why was Victor being so nice all of a sudden? Was he just trying to save face after losing their dance battle? Trying to lower his defenses just to tear him down again? Well, he wouldn’t fall for it!

“Fool me once,” he murmured, a stack of boxes toward the back of the space catching his attention.

Victor’s expression fell, the laughter coming to a quick halt. “Yuuri…” He faced the dusty stone floors. “I— Oh!” His head snapped up when he saw Yuuri pluck a bottle of champagne from the packages, removing the cork with his teeth. “You probably shouldn’t have anymore of that.”

Yuuri turned on him with defiant eyes. “Dont tell me what to have,” he slurred, chugging a good fourth of the bottle and staring at Victor the entire time.

Victor simply raised an eyebrow before shrugging and waiting for him to finish.

“Listen.” Yuuri placed the half empty bottle down on a crate, and advanced on Victor. This time, the liquor seemed to reach his bloodstream a bit quicker and he wobbled slightly. “I’m going to be an awesome Primaja! No matter what you say!” he declared, pushing him against the wall. “So you…” He trailed off as he closed the space between them, focus zoning in on the heart shaped curve of Victor’s upper lip. He really wanted to touch it. “You can just…” A smile spread over it, deepening the heart and Yuuri couldn’t help himself. He reached out to run his thumb down the slit. “You can… um…” What was he going to say again?

“Go to hell?” Victor asked, all smiles, his head tilted.

“Yeah!” he agreed fist clenched. “Well,” his resolve melted. “No… no I don't want you to go to hell Victor.” He leaned into him, arms stretching around his neck, that familiar hum flowing through him, steady and comforting. “I’m just sad. You don’t have to be scared of me. I wouldn’t hurt you or take your place.” He looked up to face him, eyes trembling with tears. “S'why do you hate me?”

Victor tensed, his eyes pained, features crumbling. Yuuri thought he might cry when he finally forced a weak grin. “I don’t hate you, Yuuri.” He averted his gaze. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Well, you acted like it!” Yuuri shouted, some of the former anger returning. “You… you have to make out with me.”

Victor brows raised several centimeters. “What?”

“Make it up to me I mean!” Yuuri corrected with a giggle.

Victor tried smiling again. “What do you want?”

“I want you to coach me!” Yuuri immediately blurted.

“Mm,” Victor nodded, a wistful but defeated look in his eyes as they settled back onto the ground.

“And a victory crown!”

“That’s easy,” Victor grinned, laying his palms out. White, sparkling bits materialized and began to swirl at the center and Yuuri marveled.

“Wow!”

Tendrils formed and coalesced one by one, slowly taking shape until a crystal crown of roses and thorns lay in Victor’s hands. “I bestow this crown upon you, Katsuki Yuuri: Winner of this quarter’s Exhibition/ Dance-off.” He placed the crown gingerly on Yuuri’s head.

“YAAAY!” Yuuri clapped himself. “Now!” His eyes glistened. “A dog!”

Victor blinked at him, but then nodded and instantly complied. A miniature of Makkachin configured in Victor’s hands.

“AW!” Yuuri cooed. “And a hamster!”

Victor forged a tiny ice hamster and Yuuri squealed. Phichit would love this!

“And a rainbow!” Yuuri spread his arms above his head. “Like in the ancient times!”

Victor chuckled to himself, making a multilayered, colorless rainbow appear out of thin air.

This went on for what seemed like hours until the door creaked open and Yakov’s stern head peeked in just in time to witness Yuuri’s best description of a pork cutlet bowl realized with ice.

“It’s so close, Victor! But you have to make the cutlets bigger this time!’

Victor frowned. “Are they really that big?”

“Yes!” Yuuri cheered. “They’re so delicious!” His mouth watered. “I want one!”

A tired, husky sigh. “I should have known I would find you back here, Vitya. Should you really be using your energy for that?”

“Huh?” Yuuri barely registered that someone else had entered the space as he gathered his armful of ice figurines into an empty crate.

“You two are getting along now?” Yakov eyed them back and forth.

Yuuri fell into Victor’s arms, snuggling against him and Victor laughed, patting his head.

“I’m sure he’ll have a lot of questions when he’s sober, but Yuuri's really drunk.”

“Mm not drunk,” Yuuri mumbled from Victor’s chest.

“I’ll make sure he gets to bed okay.”

“Vitya?” Yakov stared at him directly and Victor looked up questioningly. “Make sure you get some rest too.” The elder reached out to grasp him by the shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze. “You need to be ready for tomorrow.”

“I know,” Victor nodded, his features growing solemn. Yuuri caught his eye and he smiled again.

Yakov continued to gaze at him for a while before finally dropping his arm and nodding.

“And don’t let him drink anymore,” he added, shutting the door and leaving them in silence.

Yuuri remembered his bottle and made a move for it when a sudden wave of fatigue hit him like a blizzard. His bed didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. He let Victor ease him up and wrap his arms around his shoulders, guiding him away from the wall. But when he glanced up, he found that they weren’t heading to the door, but rather up the stone stairwell.

“Mm… my bed is this way,” Yuuri pointed toward the door.

Victor smiled and shook his head. “I want to show you something.”

They ascended the stairs and Yuuri realized vaguely that the ballroom already marked the very top of the palace. There shouldn’t have been an upper floor. Was Victor taking him to the roof? His stomach lurched as they climbed higher and higher and he began to feel woozy. Eventually they reached a narrow, short passage where paneled double doors stood at the end, an inscription of a naked woman mid-dance engraved within the white wood.

Victor slid a thin, narrow key into one of the doors and it clicked open, swaying on its hinges to reveal a round, spacious chamber complete with a fireplace, a writing desk and a canopied bed. A full bathroom with stained glass walls sat just to their left where they entered, a half moon shaped jacuzzi taking up half of its space. A tinted mosaic covered most of the ceiling, of deep blue night and red sunset, yellow sunrise and the morning sky. The rich hues stained the white carpets and furniture, washing the room in color.

“Not many people know about this suite,” Victor explained. “I haven’t even shown Yurio.”

Something bloomed in Yuuri’s chest amid the dizziness.

“They say Primaja used to stay here, but it’s so secluded that they closed it off for safety concerns.” Victor shrugged. “Anything could happen up here and no one would know.”

Yuuri felt like this should bother him, but his head swam so deeply in liquor that he could barely think without feeling nauseous. The ground began to tilt as well so he took hold of the silk material of Victor’s robes to steady himself and the man began leading him across the carpet with strong arms. He vaguely registered that they had switched rooms now. A bright light flashed on and he winced.

“Alright,” Victor looked down at him. “Get on your knees.”

“Oh…” Yuuri blinked. He let himself sag down toward the floor so that his tank top rode up in Victor’s arms. Victor’s hold on him loosened and he plopped unceremoniously just before Victor in a kneeling position, his arms still draped around the Primaja’s middle. “Okay.”

“Yuuri.” Victor frowned.

“Are you some kind of pervert?” Yuuri muttered into the crotch of his robes.

“Yuuri.” Victor chuckled, pointing toward the white pearl basin just before them on the ground. “The toilet.”

Yuuri blinked, the pieces, very slowly gelling together. They were in the bathroom. “Oh.” Goddess this would have been embarrassing if he were sober. Good thing he was so drunk!

Already on the floor, he crawled to the toilet and supported himself, arms gripping the bowl as he leaned over it. He felt a familiar sensation gurgling up in his stomach and sweat tinged his brow. Oh no… He glanced up to focus on something else, anything, to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. He immediately caught something wide, pale and shiny.

"You have a really big forehead," he slurred at Victor. With that, Yuuri turned toward the toilet and convulsed, instantly spilling his guts into the bowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it seemed ridiculous that Yuuri could manage all this with as much as he had to drink, but I’m just being canon compliant. Yuuri is a God Among Drunks. 
> 
> Also please be patient as the mystery of Victor unfolds. I promise you it won't be dropped! He's got some splainin' to do.


	9. The Secret Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know this chapter is a bit late. My summer school class is coming to an end. Working while balancing an 8 week course of Anatomy and Physiology is NO JOKE so you guys are going to have to be a little patient with me as I finish these two weeks out. Then after that, I won't be working or in school until September so I should be able to keep up with my weekly updates again ^_^
> 
> Warning: Mention of Violence Against Animals

Yuuri woke to the wind howling, accompanied by a soft crackling noise. The spicy scent of burning wood filled his nostrils and warmth settled over the thick, satiny sheets that covered his frame. His lips turned up, eyes still closed. His bedroom in the capitol rarely felt so comforting... He often spent his nights tossing and turning, the stress from the past month and the muted, cool colors of his suite offering little solace. But this morning felt different. Calming. Safe. So safe and calming that he doubted he could find the energy to drag himself out of bed for the ball that night. He draped his arms around the large pillow at his head, curling his entire body into it. But wait... His brow knitted, a wave of déjà vu hitting him. Hadn't he already left his bedroom to prepare for the ball?

An image of the lofty ballroom suddenly flashed before his eyes, soaring pillars and vibrant lights. Nosy nobles dressed in lustrous robes crafted from meticulously threaded cloths. Mouthwatering hors d’oeuvres. Champagne. So much champagne.

 _Oh no_ … His eyes shot open. He shrank into himself, fingers tearing through his hair. He’d gone to the Quarter Ball, saw Minako, drank champagne, run from that creepy reporter, drank more champagne and then… He grasped his head and thought so hard that tears crept at the corners of his eyes. Nothing. He couldn’t remember a thing.

A dull headache set in— perhaps it had been there all along— and he noticed the taste of mouthwash on his tongue and a sour tinge at the back of his throat. He’d been drinking, obviously, and had likely thrown up. A groan of self loathing escaped his throat, bitter and guttural. He promised himself before heading out that no matter how bad his anxiety got, no matter what Victor and Yuri said to him, he wouldn't over drink. What had happened between then and now? And why hadn’t Phichit stopped him?!

His best friend's name summoned an image of the two of them sitting on a bench. He rambled on about something, gripping a bottle while Phichit listened from behind his camera.

Yuuri whined. Why did it always end up that way? How much damage had he caused? Phichit had likely wrestled him away somewhere private before the elders or Victor and Yuri could see. Probably. Or else how had he gotten back to his bedroom?

He blinked across the space, at the fluffy, plush carpet and the white, antique wood door, the crackling fireplace and the mosaic ceiling. This wasn't his bedroom. His bedroom looked nothing like this. Not even close. Something settled on the opposite end of the bed and he gave a sharp cry, flipping over to his right to find the source of the noise.

He froze, his skin going cold and numb, heart halting in his chest. Victor sat at the edge of the bed facing the open window with pensive eyes as though lost in a daydream. The sun rose steadily overhead, bathing the city in golden light. It began to peek through the stained glass above, painting Victor's pale tresses in brilliant shades of crimson, gold and blue. He moved suddenly, turning to face Yuuri, and the colors spilled onto his features.

“You’re awake,” he grinned, a heart blooming on his lips. “Good morning, Yuuri!”

“Uh…” Yuuri trailed off, his mouth hanging slack. He immediately straightened up and pressed his back against the headboard. Why was Victor here? Where was here? And why was he smiling at him? He felt vulnerable in nothing but a loose black tank top and his underwear, his memory shot. He wanted to apologize for whatever actions led him here. If only he knew what those actions were... “V— Victor, I…” he paused again, an intense feeling roiling up in his gut and catching him off guard. Anger, he realized. He was angry at Victor. It made sense after what happened earlier that week, after he’d walked away and left him seething in the snow, his promise broken. But there was something else. He wracked his brain, fingers massaging at his temples.

“I’m surprised you’re not hungover after last night.” Yuuri tensed as Victor moved in, flinching as his hand moved past him and grasped an open water bottle on the bedside table. He was dressed casually, in an off the shoulder green t-shirt and cropped pants. Had he slept here too?

“You’re probably still dehydrated.” Victor nudged the bottle at him. “You should drink this.”

Yuuri reached out with hesitant hands to take the bottle and their fingers met for a brief moment. Sparks jolted through him from where their skin touched and another image appeared, blurred and hazy. Yuuri gasped, nearly dropping the bottle.

“We…” he stammered. “We were dancing.”

Victor blinked at him quizzically. “Right." He nodded. "You challenged me to a dance off?”

“What?!” Yuuri cried, arms spasming. This time he did drop the water bottle. It cascaded over the edge of the bed and Victor leaned forward to pluck it from the ground before the water could sink into the carpet.

“Don’t tell me you don't remember, Yuuri.” He frowned, settling back onto the bed.

Yuuri's fingernails bit into the midnight blue comforter, crowding it into one large ball in both hands. A drunken dance off? He knew how he danced when drunk and it had gotten him thrown out of venues a lot less dignified than the Quarter Ball. They’d probably locked him away in this room. And now Victor would send him home… He began to hyperventilate.

“Relax.” Victor gave him a reassuring grin, head tilted. “You only stripped, performed like a fire dancer and pole danced in front of the entire kingdom.”

“No!” Yuuri screeched, sinking into prayer position, his palms pressed together, knees buried into the sheets. “Goddess, please forgive me!”

Victor laughed, soft and musical, and the sound somehow soothed him.

“Yuuri,” He patted him gently on the back, his other hand gripping a smartphone with an ice blue rose case. “Everyone thought you were amazing!” He smiled so widely that it looked like it hurt as he gazed into the phone. “And you did beat me.” He winked and Yuuri’s cheeks colored.

“Look!" He held out his phone and Yuuri stared in horror at the video titled, ‘Drunk Dancing with Yuuri: Capitol Edition’. He clenched his fists. Phichit… After some drunken bravado, his inebriated self smashed a champagne bottle against the wall and declared a dance off. He danced Yuri Plisetsky into submission and watched him stumble humiliated through the crowd— which he had to admit felt at least a little satisfying. He then began ascending a thin pillar with Chris, ignoring General Seung-gil Lee's and Elder Baranovskaya’s scolding for him to get down. He weakly pushed the phone away.

“I can’t.” He sank into a ball, head buried in the comforter, arms covering it.

“But Yuuri,” Victor pouted. “You haven’t even gotten to the best part!”

“You don’t have to rub it in like this,” Yuuri grumbled from his safety ball. So that’s why Victor was so chipper... “Have I been exiled? Is that where I am?”

Victor chuckled again and he cringed. “You haven’t been exiled. We’re still in the palace.”

A spark of hope ignited within him. “Oh…” He peeked again to see his drunken likeness dragging Victor out onto the dance floor with more force than was necessary. The blush on his features deepened. “I’m not… I don’t usually…”

“It’s alright.” Victor shut the phone off and set it at his side. “I’ve seen your drunk videos before.”

Yuuri’s stomach plunged. “Drunk videos?”

“Phichit’s vlogs?” Victor frowned. “He has an entire sub-series. Drunk Pilgrimaging with Yuuri.”

Yuuri blanched and he thought he might pass out for a moment. “He posted those?” His voice came out high and squeaky.

“You didn’t know about it, Yuuri?”

“No…”

“I especially liked the ones in the Southlands!” Victor went on in an excited tone, juxtaposing harshly with Yuuri’s obvious distress. “I didn’t know you could do all that with a pole and some ribbon.” He sighed incredulously. “Maybe you can—”

“STOP!” Yuuri waved his arms, cheeks flaming.

Victor hesitated for a bit, taken aback by Yuuri's outburst. “… teach me.”

“Teach you?” Yuuri blinked, wide eyed. The idea seemed absurd. Victor was Primaja. Why would he want to learn how to dance like that?! And besides, shouldn’t he be the one teaching _him_? “P— Please understand.” He lowered his head. “I’m not normally like that. I—”

“I know.” Victor leaned down to level with him, silver hair falling over his eyes. “You’re not like that in the normal vlogs." He pulled his knees into his chest, squeezing them at the thighs. "You’re just…” he trailed off with a smile, eyes searching the colorful mosaic. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri stared at him in awe. Everything seemed surreal. He'd woke to a storybook room, color slowly pouring over them with every drift of the rising sun and here was Victor, being so nice to him... He must have been dreaming. “When did you watch all of these?”

“After your awakening.” Victor gazed at him, his chin resting on his knees. “I wanted to know what you were like.”

He obviously hadn’t approved of what he’d seen. And why would he?! Yuuri didn’t remember most of them, but he knew what types of things he did on those drunken escapades. Lewd dancing. Childish games. Blurting out whatever ridiculous thing came to mind. Often about Victor himself. Oh Goddess. He buried his face in his hands again.

“You’re sure I’m not disqualified?” His voice came out muffled from within his palms. "I know you already think I'm weak—”

“You're not weak, Yuuri."

Yuuri slowly removed his hands from his face to see Victor gazing wistfully at him.

“I don't think that.” Victor turned away when their eyes met. “And I'm sorry for making you think I ever did. You're the most powerful dancer I've ever met." His eyes found Yuuri again, looking at him, but not looking at him. Focusing on something that Yuuri couldn't see. "I’m sure the Goddess will be grateful.”

Yuuri stared back at him for a long while in shock, barely remembering to breathe. “S— So," he stammered. "You'll do what you promised then?" He leaned forward. "You'll teach me the sacred dances?"

Victor's eyes focused back into reality. Finally, he nodded with half grin. "Yes."

Yuuri's breath returned in a choked gasp, varying emotions assailing him from every angle. Then, steadily, his features began to twist and crumble, wetness stinging at his eyes.

“Victor...” He sobbed when he couldn’t take it anymore, throwing his arms around the Primaja’s neck, forcing him onto his back. The convulsions rocked his shoulders and Victor seized at first before relaxing and slowly joining his arms around his waist. Yuuri clung tighter, his tears dampening the crook of Victor's neck and the green cloth while the Primaja gazed up into the glowing mosaic, eyes distant.

"Yuuri..." he finally spoke, careful, tentative.

He trailed off and Yuuri didn't push him. It was probably a dream, he had decided, but even if that were so, he didn’t want to let go of this feeling anytime soon. This was what he wanted from the moment he’d stepped foot into the capitol, pathetic as it was. Victor’s time. And his acceptance. Pressing on without them, the looming threat of being rejected as Primaja and the destruction of the very core of his inspiration had all joined into one of the most vicious trials he'd ever faced. He doubted anything could feel more lonely. But now… He smiled, laughing and sobbing at the same time. Now...

_We don’t need Yuuri. I don’t care how powerful he is._

He froze, the last of the tears running down his cheeks and seeping into Victor’s shirt, his laughter dying in his throat. Old emotions resurfaced, hard, dark and angry. Here it was. The dream’s end. He pulled away, his hair falling over his eyes, legs still straddling Victor. “You said…” He began to tremble. “You didn’t care how powerful I was. That you didn’t need me.”

Victor tensed, swallowing audibly. His gaze lifted hesitantly to meet Yuuri's, vulnerable, almost timid. Another memory resurfaced. Their eyes locking when he'd stormed off from the balcony after his confrontation with Elder Feltsman and Celestino. He'd looked like this then. Scared.

"I was wrong."

It was unsettling seeing Victor like this. So unsettling that the feeling washed over his rage, cooling and dampening it. He felt as though he were angry at the wrong person, a doppelgänger. He found himself wishing for the old Victor. The one with ice cold eyes and razored words. Still, he summoned enough pent up frustration to press on- a month's worth. “Why would you tell them something like that?”

"I can't..." Victor started before stopping mid-sentence and switching gears. “It's hard to..." He took a deep breath before gazing up at Yuuri again, pleading with those soft aqua eyes, so hard to condemn it was aggravating. "I didn’t like hurting you," he offered.

Yuuri realized he bought it. He remembered the sagging shoulders, the exhausted features, the smile that never linked with those cold eyes. It was something Yuuri would hold on to when lost, miserable, in his own thoughts. That at least Victor seemed to be just as miserable in the face of his torment as he was. 

“I know that!” Yuuri snapped despite himself, unable to keep the tremor under control. “So why-”

Sudden, jarring laughter broke from Victor’s lips, but this time, it differed from the light airy tone from earlier. Something dark and jaded lurked under its cadence.

“Sorry, it's just..." He lowered his hand from his lips, composing himself. "You know,” he repeated. “Because you can see me, right? Into me?”

Yuuri’s heart sped up as he remembered the conversation in the study. He’d been so desperate then, pouring his heart out for Victor to understand and now to mock. Dreams were fleeting.

“It was so sweet when you said that.” Victor’s tone softened, his lips curving up. “Like a line from a love story.”

Warmth spread through Yuuri's features.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to keep a blank face.”

“Eh…” Yuuri scratched at the back of his head, a dopey grin slipping over his lips. “I, uh…”

“But you _don't_  know.” Victor’s expression sobered as he pushed himself to a seated position. They faced one another directly now, Yuuri still straddling his lap. “You don’t know me and you don’t have any reason to trust me.” His lips folded downward. "I could be a bad person."

Yuuri didn't want to believe that, to have his former image of Victor, his golden idol, reanimated before his eyes only to be snatched away again. Perhaps he was gullible, a terrible judge of character, blinded by talent and beauty. Perhaps he could never "see into" Victor in the first place. But having him here now, exposed in  a bath of sunlight, watching Yuuri with nervous, vulnerable eyes- it gave him hope.

Victor drew his gaze to the window when he didn't respond. "Maybe I wanted to hurt you."

“So you just...” Yuuri started, swallowing around the nasty lump in his throat. "... wanted to hurt me?"

The sudden wince in Victor's features was enough to garner an answer.

"I don't believe that." Yuuri shook his head. "Why did you do it? Why would you tell them that?” He bit his lip. “You’re miles ahead of me as a dancer! I couldn’t hold a candle to your legacy! So why?!”

Victor just blinked at him and he thought he would go mad.

“Tell me why!”

“Does it matter?” Victor sighed, eyes falling back onto the comforter. “I was terrible to you. If you don't want me as your coach, I completely under-”

"Of course I do!"

Victor trailed off, his mouth going slack. It would have been funny under different circumstances. "Yuuri." He said with a hint of exasperation. "Can you even forgive me?"

Yuuri's mouth set downward. Part of him wanted to say no. To hold all of the sleepless, tear-filled nights and anxiety plagued mornings, the bullying and frostbite close to him and never let go. To keep it in his heart, to let it fester and freeze it over. Instead, the distress in Victor's eyes prompted familiar tears to well up in his before he could help them.

“I don’t want to,” he managed, shaking his head. “But of course I can, Victor.” His voice cracked, the tears streaming again. He wiped at them with the backs of his hands only to feel their replacements brimming at the lids. “I didn't want to believe you were a bad person,” he sobbed, giving up at drying his tears and leaning forward, his forehead falling against Victor's shoulder. "I'm so glad its not true."

Victor shuffled awkwardly under him, reaching around to pat his back with hands that trembled slightly. The motion just made Yuuri sob harder.

“So…” He pulled away when he found his voice again, eyes red, nostrils dripping. “You’ll be my coach, right?”

Victor reached across him to pluck a handkerchief from the bedside table and placed the cloth in his trembling hands. He nodded with a smile.

“E— Even though I can’t forge ice?” Yuuri sniffled, blowing his nose into the handkerchief.

Victor shrugged as though it were nothing. “We’ll work on it.”

Yuuri nodded, brown eyes determined. “And…” His shoulders suddenly tensed. “I won't have to sit in the snow anymore?”

No.” Victor's eyes wandered shamefully downward. “I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

"It's..." Yuuri started, the memory of relentless snowfall and numbed, pale skin that stung and prickled painfully even after a warm shower sobering his features. It wasn’t okay, he thought, the wound still weeping afresh. Not yet anyway.

The silence grew long and heavy between them and he realized suddenly that he still sat square in the middle of Victor’s lap, his wandering gaze focused on his midsection.

“Sorry!” he yelped, somersaulting backwards toward the headboard and settling there against the pillows.

Victor chuckled, eyes softening. “It’s alright.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and laid back, reaching for a fuzzy brown lump at the center of the headboard. A stuffed Makkachin plush, Yuuri realized as Victor squeezed it close to his chest. “How did you lose your magic in the first place?”

Yuuri tensed. Before it had seemed so difficult to open up, to share his story. He considered Victor, sprawled across the bed in sleepwear, gazing at him with open, curious eyes. This wasn’t like before. And he had just enough adrenaline and liquid courage left in his system to make this achievable. Why waste it?

“I…” he started hesitantly. “Had a dog once.”

Victor’s brow furrowed and then slowly evened out. “You don’t trust me enough to tell me.” He nodded to himself. “I understand—”

“I am telling you,” Yuuri cut in, grasping at a pillow to keep his hands steady. “I had a dog. He looked a lot like Makkachin.” An anguished grin twisted his mouth. “Vicchan.”

A wide heart bloomed on Victor’s lips, eyes shining. “Short for Victor?”

“For Victory!” Yuuri countered immediately, cheeks glowing. “This was a long time ago. You weren’t Primaja then. N— Not that I didn’t know who you were before your calling! You were an amazing dancer even as a child!” he rambled. “I just wasn’t familiar enough at the time and…” he panted, the words piling up with no breaths in between. “I just— it wasn’t— I DIDN’T NAME MY DOG AFTER YOU!” he finally snapped.

“Okay.” Victor’s grin remained. “I believe you.”

Somehow Yuuri doubted this, but he pressed on regardless. “There…” He took a deep breath before going on, eyes closed. He didn’t tell this story often. Phichit, Celestino, Minako and Yuko were the only four outside of his family who knew. “There was an accident. I used to like to make rings for him to jump through.” He smiled to himself. “Ice rings.”

Victor’s features lit up. “I used to do that with Makkachin when she was younger!”

Yuuri paused, reveling at the light in Victor’s eyes. He didn’t want to put it out, but he knew if he didn’t tell him now he might never work up the courage again.

“We were playing one day outside my family’s onsen. My parents were busy with work and we were having so much fun that I didn’t even realize when a gang of firestarters came through.” He hugged the pillow close to him, fingers grasping at his elbows. “I tried to hide at first, but Vicchan was loud and…” He trailed off, his breathing uneven and shallow.

Victor’s smile vanished. 

“They found us. I think they’d heard rumors about me, about my magic and they decided they wanted to play the game too,” he said, his voice tight. “But not with ice.”

Victor’s hand reached out, curling his fingers around Yuuri’s, squeezing them gently. Yuuri squeezed back.

“Vicchan didn’t know any better. He was so trusting and they wouldn't let us leave. He got through the rings okay at first, but then they kept making them faster and faster and more narrow.” His stomach lurched as it always did when he got to this part. “I tried to stop it.” He looked at Victor, eyes begging him to believe him. “I did! But it was so hot and… and…” He stopped, his voice barely a shaky whisper, body quivering all over.

Victor pressed his hand to his lips as though he would be sick, eyes glistening. They gazed into him with pity and a part of Yuuri hated it. It wasn’t him Victor should feel sorry for. He stared at the fluffy likeness of Makkachin and guilt convulsed violently in the pit of his stomach.

Before he could register it, Victor had flung his arms around his shoulders, drawing him in, rocking him and Yuuri couldn’t tell if it was an attempt to soothe him or to soothe Victor himself. Regardless, the mysterious, electric hum comforted him.

“The smell, Victor…” Yuuri buried his face in his hands, curling deeper into Victor's chest. “Goddess, it was awful. I couldn’t eat meat for a long time after that. I still can’t eat beef.” He moved his fingers away from his face and stared at them. “I haven’t been able to do it since then. Whenever I tried, I’d panic. I’d see horrible things.” He shuddered. “Nothing but fire. I used to think the Goddess saw what happened and took it away from me. To punish me.”

“Yuuri,” Victor said, his voice thick. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” he replied, but as always, the doubt clung at the back of his mind, weakening the sentiment. “I was so happy when she chose me. I thought she must have forgiven me. But it didn’t come back.” He flexed his fingers roughly, palms up. “Sometimes I can feel it just under my fingertips, but it disappears at the last second every time.”

He looked up at Victor. “Celestino says if I can conquer my trauma around what happened with mindfulness, I can find it again, but I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Maybe I need something else.”

Victor frowned, eyes glistening. “I was so cruel to you.”

“I— It’s okay,” Yuuri managed, finding it easier to say this time.“I’m glad I could tell you,” he smiled, resting his head against Victor’s shoulder. A heavy soot lifted from his chest and he suddenly felt his breathing coming in clearer, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the pendant at his chest.

Victor followed his gaze. “What is that?”

"Hm?" Yuuri asked. The pendant had become such an integral part of him that he hardly noticed it was there. He ran his fingers down its silver chain until he reached the deep blue trinket at the end. "It's supposed to be a lotus flower." He turned the charm over in his hands, sapphire petals with a black stone pistil at the center, the hard ridges of each petal kissing his skin. A soft smile spread over his lips. "I liked the pictures and stories of flowers as a kid. And stones are supposed to have healing properties. So my mother gave it to me after what happened. To make me feel safe."

"Wow!" Victor gushed, covering his mouth. "It's beautiful, Yuuri! Can I hold it?!"

"Um, sure." Yuuri blushed, taking the chain from around his neck and letting it drizzle into Victor's open hands. "The sapphire is supposed to be for mental strength and meditation." His ran his fingers around the deep blue petals. "And the hematite is a protection stone against negative energy." He pointed to the black center. "I always keep it close to me."

"Amazing!" Victor's eyes gleamed. "You hardly ever see stones like this in the capitol! They're so expensive!"

"Really?" Yuuri supposed even the most daring of jewelers were terrified to go mining around in the Eastlands ... "Hasetsu has a lot of interesting rocks from volcanic activity. There are tons of caves and formations." He smiled, remembering sneaking into the caverns with Yuko and Nishigori, squealing with glee each time they found the colorful treasures in sparkling clusters on the walls or hiding beneath slabs of ordinary stone.

"I wouldn't know." Victor said, still staring in awe at the pendant in his hands, fingers running over the cool gems. "I never get to leave the capitol."

Yuuri frowned. "Not even for pilgrimages when you were younger?”

Victor shook his head. ”Yakov and the rest of the council figured I would awaken at a young age. I still wasn't old enough to pilgrimage by the time I did."

"Oh." Yuuri nodded slowly. He couldn't imagine being unable to pilgrimage. He'd met so many other dancers that way, all joining together with one goal, moving from town to town, exploring, dancing under the stars. Nothing compared to the feeling of having the entire world at your fingertips, of freedom. Yuuri suddenly felt something new toward Victor, something he didn't think he'd ever possess for a celebrated Primaja.

"Well, the Eastlands get a bad rap, but there are a lot of fun things to do there." A new idea accosted him and bubbled wildly in his gut.

Victor nodded. “Yuuri…” His expression sobered as he stared down at the stone flower.

“Maybe I’ll…” Yuuri paused, wringing his fingers nervously.

“I should tell you something." 

"I'll take you there one day!" Yuuri blurted. "When you retire," he added shyly. "And you're not so busy anymore."

Victor looked up with wide eyes. A second passed and his expression melted, eyes shining, a heart blooming on his lips. "I'd really like that, Yuuri."

Yuuri felt as though his chest would burst. “W— We have a hot springs too," he stammered. "And you can try a pork cutlet bowl!"

Victor beamed. "I can't wait!"

An uncontrollable grin spread over Yuuri's lips. Victor in Hasetsu. This Victor. With a genuine bow shaped smile that reached his eyes. He only hoped his family and the Nishigoris wouldn't tease him too much... His heart hammered away and he decided to change the subject lest it actually exploded. Hadn’t Victor wanted to tell him something?

“What were you going to say?”

“Oh…” Victor blinked as if snapping out of a daze. “Nothing really.”

Yuuri frowned, diappointed. “I thought maybe you would tell me the real reason why you were so hard on me for the past month.” He sighed, leaning forward off of the bed, resting his arms on his knees.

Victor averted his gaze, staring off into the sky’s horizon as though seeking something. Then, like a light bulb, it came and his features lit up. “It was a test!” He turned back to him with a wide, dipping grin. “You passed, Yuuri!”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “If it was a test, then why did you tell Elder Feltsman and Celestino that you didn’t need me?"

Victor blinked, caught off guard. The grin returned a second later. "It was staged!” he declared, raising his index finger.

Yuuri’s brow knitted, a sliver of the old anger returning. “That’s not funny, Victor.” He stared at the carpet. “If that was a test, it was a cruel one.” His fingers bunched around the sheets. “It… hurt.”

Victor’s expression fell and he joined him at the foot of the bed.

“I thought I was doing the right thing," The Primaja sighed, unraveling the chain in his hands and letting it fall into an 'O' shape around his fingers. "I was just being selfish." He leaned in to drape the pendant around Yuri's neck, an amused grin on his lips. “You're so much stronger than I am, Yuuri. You wouldn’t go home now even if I insisted, would you?”

“No.” Yuuri answered honestly, despite the blush on his cheeks. He couldn’t return to Hasetsu like this. Even if he had to sit through one hundred more ice meditations, even if his heart pained him to its core, if his entire loyalty for the Goddess had been built on someone who scorned him, he still had a duty to his hometown and his family. They needed him.

“I never want anyone to go through what I did with Vicchan again,” he started, eyes burning into the carpet. “So it doesn't matter what trials I have to face. You were my inspiration for dancing and I’ll always carry that with me.” He clenched his fists. “ But I’m going to become Primaja with or without you, Victor.”

He glanced shyly over at Victor, secretly hoping he hadn’t offended him. He was surprised to see a light blush coloring the Primaja’s cheeks.

“I see.” Victor nodded with a smile. He extended a hand to him, long fingers open and beckoning. “I guess I have no choice but to support you then.”

Yuuri hesitated before taking his hand. He still wanted to know more, but this new Victor had a disarming effect on him. Anger and accusations transformed into euphoria and butterflies in his stomach. “Thank you.” Their fingers settled together in a firm grip, the hum tingling and flowing through the tips and down their arms.

Victor turned back toward the window and gazed out at the sprawling city where the spikes of the mountain shrine in the distance glared in the sun . “I have to go soon,” he said. His head tilted toward Yuuri with a smile. “You should sleep more, Yuuri. How are you still functioning after last night?”

Yuuri laughed nervously. How embarrassing. “I don’t really get hangovers. My dad is like that too…”

“Really?” Victor asked as he rose from the bed, lifting the blue comforter up and urging Yuuri toward the headboard. “What an amazing talent.”

“Wait!” Yuuri cried. He moved forward, his fingers gripping his pendant. “B— Before you go…” He took Victor’s hands in his, folded them around the stone charm and bowed his head, eyes closed. Victor blinked at him, confused.

“I pray you do well at the shrine today and that the Goddess blesses you with all of her magic and strength.” He nodded firmly to complete the prayer, gazing up to smile encouragingly at Victor. Victor stared at him for a while longer before finally nodding in gratitude.

“I’m sure you’ll be great.” Yuuri yawned as he climbed toward the headboard, drowsiness returning at just the thought of going back to bed. “I can’t believe I thought you were jealous of me,” he muttered as his head hit the pillows. _Didn’t it sound that way?_ another voice challenged him from the back of his head. He shook it off, too tired and emotionally drained to address his fuzzy memories of the night before.

  
Victor’s eyes widened. “Jealous?” he asked, his expression amused at first and then playful. “Well, your forehead _is_ perfect, Yuuri.”

“What?” Yuuri raised a confused eyebrow as Victor lifted the comforter again and stretched it over him. The motion was familiar. It reminded him of his mother back home and childhood memories took sway over his thoughts, dreams playing at their edges. He heard Victor pulling the curtains of the canopy around and shade fell over him.. His eyelids grew heavy as he nuzzled into the pillow.

"Sleep tight."

The words barely reached him as he fell deeper into slumber, from one dream to the next. "Mm."

“I can’t tell you everything right now.” Victor whispered above him. “But I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.” He placed the Makkachin plush beside the sleeping Primaja in line, lips quivering as they curled up into a smile. “Yuuri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I really wanted to make Yuuri more vindictive, but I tried several times this chapter and last chapter to do it and it just wouldn't write itself. I don't think Yuuri is a very vindictive person. But I guarantee that Victor will have his own suffering if that's what you're looking for.
> 
> Also, it's my inclination for Victor to say "Yuuri" a lot. I wonder why that is. I had to cut a lot of "Yuuri"s from his dialogue because it just got repetitive. Sorry if it still is. Fun fact: Victor actually says Yuuri's name more than Yuuri says 'Victor' in the show despite Yuuri being the narrator. I did not tally this. There is a Youtube video comparison. Haha.


	10. The Rebels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My longest chapter yet. This is over 10,000 words so it’s like two chapters in one. I guess it evens out because I didn’t update for the last 2 weeks because of summer finals. I told myself I would take it easy, but I wrote two chapters worth of material anyway…  
> Sorry if there are any weird Anatomy related words in here. I’ve been living and breathing this class. I almost used ‘parasympathetic system’ in the text, you guys.  
> Another thing! This chapter parallels some social problems in the world at large completely unintentionally. I didn’t realize until I was writing it how close it comes. I’m not trying to make a statement or preach at anyone. I just think that certain circumstances and social problems recur constantly in history regardless of the society and the same tropes just sort of appear organically when you write something replicating that circumstance.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Four days had passed since Yuuri made a mockery of tradition, challenging his idol and his rival to a dance competition and trouncing them both. Four days since he'd woke under color stained sun rays, aching and confused with the fading effects of liquor and exhaustion. Since the first time he'd seen beyond Victor's veil and felt secure enough in lifting his own.

When he'd come to later that afternoon to Makkachin snuggling at his side, the plush of her likeness abandoned on the carpet, Victor had already gone. Yuuri hadn't seen him since, leaving little evidence to convince him the entire thing wasn't a drunken fabrication.

He began engaging in small rituals to convince himself of its validity. With Makkachin's keen sense of direction, he retraced their steps through the dark, stone corridors and up the narrow staircase to the secret suite just to confirm he hadn't imagined it. He organized the set of mysterious ice figurines the staff delivered to his chambers the next day in a row on his window ledge and stared at them routinely— a rose crown, a toy poodle, a pork cutlet bowl with too small cutlets and a rainbow among the dozen (He’d given the hamster to Phichit). He even began watching the infamous vlogs. Some were innocent enough. Shopping. Simple dance performances. Goofing around in hotels and hostels, the photos he carried of Victor lurking humiliatingly in the backdrop. Others...

He peeked for the hundredth time to make sure he was alone in the corridor before starting the next video, 'Drunk Pilgrimaging with Yuuri #3 A.K.A I Saw a Dancer So Beautiful I Started Crying?'

He stared in shameful disbelief as he gripped the pole of the Southland dance club, ascending rapidly and reaching for the two long, flowing strings of pink fabric that hung beside it. This was it. The video Victor mentioned. He covered his eyes partially, not wanting to look, but unable to turn away as he grasped the thick ribbons and soared across the stage like a seafaring hero, legs open in a split. It wasn't that the aerial arts weren't admirable. If he thought so, he never would have taken them up. But did he have to look so wantonly at the audience, his unbuttoned dress shirt loose and rumpled, his black speedos beaming in the glare of the overhead lights?

Yuuri should have seen this coming long ago. One late night, as he tiptoed down the steps for the bathroom, he’d observed his father humiliating himself in front of their onsen guests. Right then, at the tender age of eight, he made a declaration to never end up this way. His father was a good man, but so mild mannered and humble that all of his impulse and spirit roared out of him unbridled the moment his inhibitions lowered. The apple had barely broken from the tree. In these moments, impulse control was a fancy. And Yuuri had a lot of spirit.

"I..." His 22-year-old self babbled into the mic, the entire club roaring with applause. "I want to thank my family! And Yuko and the girls! And my cameraman!"

"You're welcome, Yuuri!" A tipsy Phichit boomed into the mic offscreen. He was recording, as always.

"And Minako! And Celestino!"' he rambled on excitedly. "And Victor!"

Present day Yuuri cringed.

"I LOVE YOU, VICTOR!" he declared, winking and blowing a kiss.

"Yuuri! Yuuri!" Phichit again. "Tell us more about Victor!"

"Victor..." Yuuri considered the name. "Is the most beautiful dancer in the world! In..." he hiccuped. "History!" Tears pooled in his eyes. "Victor! If you're watching please come to Hasetsu! We can take baths together at the onsen! And do secret dances..." he purred suggestively and his current self wanted to die.

"Only a Primaja can do those dances!" someone humored him from the crowd.

"I'LL BE PRIMAJA!" Yuuri pumped his fist up, raising the mic high. "COACH ME, VICTOR!"

The club goers cheered.

"1000 likes and Victor will coach Yuuri!" Phichit promised from behind the phone.

"BE MY COACH, VICTOR!" Yuuri gave two peace signs to the camera, eyes glistening as he raised his ankle high, leg straight, to grasp it with one hand just because. The audience roared with applause.

"OKAY!" He announced, hopping down from the stage. "TIME FOR A GRIND LINE!"

The inebriated masses began to gather around him and current Yuuri let the phone drop to his lap, mortified. This was the most embarrassing of them all. How many people had seen these?!

Sighing, he stood and moved to smooth down the black sweatpants and grey hoodie. He would have to repair the capitol's image of him now. While it was certainly no excuse for his cruelty, Victor and the rest of the palace likely viewed him as a careless party animal who couldn't handle his liquor, let alone a position as significant as Primaja. Well, he thought, pulling his lengthy, blue parka from the bench and stretching it around his shoulders. He would fix that...

He tugged a grey knitted wool cap marked ‘EASTLAND SEA LIONS ' over his head— a remnant of an old dance team. Enough vlogs. Time to do what he'd left his room for in the first place.

  
The towering corridor shifted into a large hall the more he walked, palace officials rushing all around him— nobles and politicians, advisors and secretaries. They passed him in a rush sparing shy, short glances, hushed whispers on their lips. He attributed part of this to his actions at the ball. Goddess knows he'd frightened quite a few of them. But there was another crucial element in Jean-Jacques Leroy. JJ and his system breach were still the talk of the town and, according to the media and the military, there hadn't been a peep out of him since. In fact, save for their ever growing activity in the Eastlands, the fire population remained relatively quiet— eerily so. The capitol had been calm, but an ominous type of calm. The kind that kept people on their toes.

Life in the palace in general moved slow over the past days without Victor. Yuuri hadn't realized just how much his struggle for Victor's acceptance and their 'training' had distracted him. For the first few days without the Primaja, Makkachin, Minako and the guard kept him company. What Makkachin summoned in the darkest recesses of his mind, intense guilt and traumatic memories, she made up for with nostalgia and enthusiasm. They toured the palace together in the mornings and she always accompanied him to the kitchens where, unable to resist her pleading gaze, he fed her entire halves of his meals. When Minako wasn't off with her latest beau, she escorted him to practice at famed worship sites around the capitol. Mila introduced him to museums with artifacts from the old world and a music conservatory, Phichit practiced with him at the indoor palace rink and Chris, military maestro he was, attempted to guide him through a few ice-based warrior tricks for self defense. His magic didn’t bite. All three guards dragged him to a club the second night where Chris made numerous efforts to coax him into drinking— something he was far too scarred by the past week to entertain. Especially with Phichit present.

The last few days, however, had been less than entertaining. Makkachin ceased to visit him in the mornings, vanishing just as Victor had. Minako was clearly in the honeymoon phase of her relationship and Chris summoned all military personnel to meet about some confidential business that Yuuri didn't possess the clout to know. He roamed the corridors half hoping he’d run into Victor, paged through a few books in the library and practiced alone. He struggled to meditate, but the experience was rarely pleasant. It disconcerted him, sinking so deeply into himself, always terrified of what he might find there. In truth, he didn’t remember much of his magic at all. Overwhelming flame singed over the recollections and he found it blazing at him all too often when he closed his eyes. So that afternoon, after his latest failed attempt, he'd decided on something different to clear his thoughts. A walk.

He continued out of the hall and down a winding stone staircase into the main foyer of the palace. His guard awaited him there beside one of the white, veiny stone pillars that surrounded the oak doors, his posture erect and stately as usual, eyes solemn.

“Mickey!” Yuuri waved. He had taken to addressing the man by his nickname in hopes that he’d return it with a more casual moniker for himself. He never did.

“Lord Katsuki!” Michele saluted immediately upon spotting him. “I am aptly prepared to guard you during your walk, sir!”

Yuuri struggled to keep his smile in place. He wasn’t aware that walks took so much preparation. “G— Great!”

Two palace guards, draped in coats of navy and grey, gripped the silver plated knobs and eased them open. A gust of chilled air blew over them instantly and Yuuri drew in a deep breath that cooled his lungs. He shuddered and drew his parka in around him, still not quite accustomed to the Westland’s frosty weather. But the sun’s glare on the gleaming, white snow and the sound of the wind whistling through the pine lined path to the gates invigorated him.

They started down the salted stone steps of the palace toward the main courtyard where people marveled at ice sculptures of the Goddess dancing, a matronly smile frozen on her lips, long hair flowing behind her in tendrils.

"Heavenly, isn't she, Lord Katsuki?" Michele asked. “No woman can compete with the Goddess’s beauty.”

“Mm.” Yuuri blinked up at the statue in thought. No living being had documented proof of actually beholding the Goddess. Her likeness had been theorized, formed by sculptors and painters, passed down through generations. Regardless, she was beautiful. While it was true that no woman he knew equaled her beauty, Yuuri always thought Victor more than compared. They even shared similarities— the silver tresses, the tall frame, icy blue eyes that melted when they smiled. Practically kin. He started to say so when Michele cut him off.

“But my Sara comes close.” His eyes dampened, shoulders shrugging downward. Yuuri tensed, all too familiar with these episodes by now. He yanked nervously at his hat, pulling it down further over his eyes, and nodded as they padded toward the gates, their boots shining with wetness.

“I'm sure she's very beautiful from what you've told me.”

Michele's brows sank low, chin jutted out. "Are you thinking of hitting on my sister?"

Yuuri's eyes ballooned. “Wh— what?! No!" He started to argue further when he caught a familiar face just beyond the fuming guard and his eyes lit up.

“Yurio!” he called with a wave.

Per usual, Yuri froze next to Otabek like an animal under a hunter’s gun. Then he cursed under his breath and promptly skirted away, hands shoved in the pockets of his black, leopard print jacket. Otabek gave Yuuri a curious look before heading after his ward. Yuuri sighed. It was always like this. After the ball, he’d wanted to break the tension a bit before their next training together. He wondered how the boy would take actually having to train with him as an equal. Though Victor seemed remorseful enough, he somehow doubted that Yuri felt the same. Victor's cruel treatment was always delivered cooly with little to no real emotion, almost strained. Yuri's, with the utmost, genuine glee. Yuuri shook his head. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

“So Mickey,” he started, hoping he'd forgotten his anger over the past minute, as they strolled across a quaint brick bridge over an iced lake. “It’s been almost a week since Victor went to dance at the shrine...” He eyed him hopefully, praying for answers. "Does he always take so long to come back?"

“It is suspicious to be sure, Lord Katsuki.” Michele crossed his arms, eyes serious. “He’s been disappearing more and more for spells after his performances and they say not even the council knows where he goes.”

“Oh.” Yuuri nodded with a frown.

“Maybe Sara is there too.” Michele’s eyes narrowed into slits. "She did say she found him attractive once..."

Yuuri pulled his coat tighter around himself as they entered a dense cluster of Evergreens, snow routinely falling from the lofty branches in clumps. Perhaps Victor had left the capitol for a vacation somewhere? Primaja needed to sneak away sometimes too, right? But deep down, Yuuri knew that couldn't be true. Victor was close by. He wasn't certain how, but he could feel it as sure as the cold creeping into his skin. Shade continued to fall over them as they walked further into the brush, shielded from the wind chill, but cut off from the sun. A stray branch caught on his boot and he nearly face planted forward. He shook his head. Best to focus on the present.

"Do you at least have any idea where she's being held?" he asked Michele, directing his thoughts back to Sara.

"No idea." Michele shrugged violently, his black guard's cloaks rustling on his shoulders. "Firestarters move around quickly, you know, corrupting everything they touch." His teeth gritted, a look of utter disgust on his features. "Like rats."

Yuuri's lips folded into a frown and he clutched his arms at the memory of his own screams, white hot fire blazing all around him. Relating the story to Victor had only made the memory feel that much closer. His chest tightened and he paused in the middle of the clearing in the woods, breathing shaky from more than just the cold. How much suffering would the capitol have its people endure at the hands of firestarters before...

His thoughts trailed off, thinking of Mila's friend at the conservatory, fireborn but also an exceptionally talented pianist who smiled shyly and thanked him at least a dozen times for attending her performance. Of Chris's mischievous features grinning at him over the bar top- fingers curled around his shot glass as he went on about his own childhood in the Eastlands, dire but entertaining nonetheless. Of Victor's approval and trust in the man. Conflicting emotions swirled inside of him and his throat constricted. Before what?

"We should lock them all up." Michele went on. "These things wouldn't happen if—“ He stopped when his phone began to buzz. Yanking it from his pocket, his eyes went wide when they caught the screen and he answered immediately. "Have you found her?"

Yuuri listened hopefully at the start of the conversation, but in just moments, it took a decidedly negative turn as Michele's features grew less optimistic, more exasperated and then angry, berating the poor soul on the other end. Eager to escape from the cloud of dark energy his guard currently emanated, Yuuri wandered to the peripheral of the clearing, back into the brush.

"What do you mean it’s hopeless?!" Michele screamed into the receiver from behind him and Yuuri sighed, settling against a tree. If only he could have gone by himself... He'd grown accustomed to doing things on his own. Starting pilgrimages alone before he'd met Phichit. Practicing at the rink while Yuko entertained her family at home. Walking the springs and mountain trails of Hasetsu with nothing but his own thoughts to accompany him. He rather enjoyed it, coming from a large family with the ever present bustle of the onsen. Even if it wasn't always the safest option, he enjoyed the serene quiet it brought him, an inner shelter of sorts.

The capitol was different. The council required that he be escorted at all times save for certain secure areas of the palace. He could barely walk from his bedroom to the snow gardens alone without someone having a fit.

"What did you say?!" Michele yelled, face completely red now, even with his soft tan. "How dare you talk about my sister that way!"

Yuuri sighed. They would probably have to return to the palace now. It was either that or forcing Mickey to remain, raging about the grounds, starting rash arguments with anyone who looked like they might be interested in his sister which— according to him— was the vast majority of the population. Yuuri stared up into the sky, watching a cardinal fly overhead with a touch of envy. Perhaps with Michele occupied, he could sneak to the gardens later... He started to turn back to let his guard know that they could return to the palace when something stopped him cold.

"Please! No!"

The hairs on the back of his neck spiked and he zipped around to the clearing again to face Michele. The man still glared into the snow, shoulders hunched, eyes maddened as he hurled insults and obscenities into the phone receiver. The words had come from somewhere else.

Yuuri wandered further from the clearing, maneuvering from tree to tree, searching for the source. Finally, he spotted them at the very edge of the wooded area where the impenetrable grey stone of the palace gates stood tall, the expansive city lying just beyond. Seung-gil and two of his underlings stood at the base, staring down a young man who kneeled before them. Medium length dark reddish hair was swept up and tied in a ponytail behind him. He wore a flimsy brown tweed jacket, his shoulders heaving under it, head bowed.

"I don't understand." He held his hands up and they vibrated oddly. He was trembling. "I wasn't doing anything wrong. I swear!"

One of the men at Seung-gil's side snickered from beneath a heavy, black helmet. Flame retardant no doubt. "A hellraiser expecting us to take him at his word?"

The other man joined in, laughing even louder. "Hilarious."

Seung-gil's expression remained as vacant as Yuuri had ever seen it, the only movement present in the wind teasing his dark mane and the ends of his coats. "Your people have been skulking around the palace a lot lately. Do you have approval to be here?"

The man swallowed hard, eyes drifting toward his waist. “I— It's in my pocket."

Seung-gil reached down and plucked a square grey object from the man's pocket. A wallet. He rifled through it for a few moments before pausing, cold, black eyes sliding toward him again.

"Leo De Iglesias, is it?"

Leo nodded slowly. "I recently joined Captain Giacometti's program—“

"I don't remember seeing your name listed." Seung-gil cut in.

Leo clenched his fists. "This is ridiculous! It's not illegal to walk the palace grounds. I didn't do anything wrong!"

The guard to Seung-gil’s left raised his gun instantly and Yuuri started, eyes going wide. A gust of icy mist exploded from the barrel, enveloping the man in frost so arctic that it created a fine layer of flakes almost on impact, his skin going pale and blue.

Leo cried out, lifting his arms to shield himself. "I'm wearing a muzzle!" He cried out, the pain evident in his voice. "I'M WEARING A MUZZLE!" He waved his arm about recklessly, the black gleaming over his wrist.

"He's resisting!" The other guard cried and Yuuri recognized him— an average, but amicable dancer he'd met on pilgrimage once. He reached out, a ribbon of ice shooting from his palm to encircle Leo's neck. Leo shielded himself, but the ice formed a loop regardless, entrapping both his neck and his wrist inside. The ice built upon itself until Leo collapsed on his side, blue in the face.

"I can't breathe," he whimpered into the snow, breathing labored, eyes pleading.

Seung-gil only watched him, unfeeling, almost expectant, as he began kicking fruitlessly, feet and elbows flailing, trying to hold on to consciousness.

Yuuri's feet still rooted him behind the pine trunk. His heartbeat raced at an unbearable speed, sweat building beneath his coat and coating his forehead. Something screamed at him from deep inside, its roar piercing and urgent but he could not will himself to move. Suddenly, a clump of snow tumbled from a branch above him, falling onto his back and something snapped into place.

"STOP!" he cried as he raced toward them, knees and fists pumping, just in time for Leo to hit the ground, unmoving. The ice fell away from him, glittering and misting into the air, magic evaporated.

Seung-gil and his men turned around to peer at Yuuri, eyes narrowed.

"Lord Katsuki?" Seung-gil concluded after leaning in to get a better look at him beneath the hat and the collar of his coat.

"Hey!" The familiar guard grinned widely. "Katsuki sir! We used to pilgrimage together!” He chuckled. “Remember that night—“

"Is he alright?!" Yuuri shouted, without any forethought, his voice cracking, chest still drumming violently. "Is he alive?!" He moved toward the still fire dancer with tentative hands, but the guards immediately blocked his path.

"This is a military matter." Seung-gil stated blankly. "Go back to the palace where it's safe, Lord Katsuki. The grounds have been rather dangerous lately."

"A military matter?" Disbelief spread over Yuuri's face, followed swiftly by horror. How could he be so calm?! He attempted to maneuver past them and they huddled closer together. “H— He wasn't doing anything! I saw-"

"We're taking him in for questioning and that's that." Seung-gil said with surprising finality. "You've barely been here for a month, Katsuki," he said, abandoning the honorific. "I've been dealing with these people for the last decade. I've seen what they're capable of and I know suspicious behavior when I see it."

Yuuri started to say that Leo didn't look as though he were capable of much of any type of behavior at the moment but when he looked back to eye the unconscious man, he nearly gasped. Another man with blond hair and concerned bright blue eyes crept slowly toward Leo, arms raised, steps slow and deliberate. He hovered over him, lips moving frantically with one word. Probably his name. Worry twisted his features and Yuuri ached for him. When the stranger noticed Yuuri's gaze on him, he froze, eyes wide.

Yuuri gulped. If they were friends, there might be chance this man was a firestarter too. If he realized, Seung-gil and his men would surely take them both. Or worse. He noticed the general's attention following his gaze and his eyes widened. He had to distract him!

"This is an outrage!" he cried and all three of the soldier's heads whipped back to him. A blush flooded his cheeks. "Eh... um..." he stammered. “Y— You can't get away with this! You might have killed him!”

Seung-gil raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Can't get away with this?" he repeated. "Lady Baranovskaya encourages these interventions. Their presence around the palace does not sit well with her."

“W— Well," Yuuri started, taking a quick glance over Seung-gil's shoulder to see the blond man tugging Leo's body over the snow. He stopped mid-tug to give him a quick thumbs up. "What about the rest of the council? If I talked to Elder Celestino-"

"Ah, yes." A bitter smirk fixed on Seung-gil’s lips. "I'm sure the son of a hellraiser would be quite upset indeed."

Real anger, raw and irrepressible, flared from within Yuuri, his mission to distract forgotten. "That's just a rumor!" he cried and something pulsed out of him, heavy and electric. "And even if it were true, Celestino wouldn't stand for this type of treatment! It doesn't matter what his element is!"

Seung-gil's lips dipped downward, his sneer transforming into a grimace.

The guard that Yuuri was unfamiliar with, a stocky man with brown stubble under his helmet, eyed Yuuri nervously. "You wanna be careful with this one, general. Remember what he did to the grounds? And then at the Quarter Ball—”

"I remember," Seung-gil said in a stern tone, annoyance snarling his mouth. "I was there." His vacant gaze fell on Yuuri again, eyes trailing up to his 'Eastlands' hat and then back to him. "You know, it's no wonder you have such a soft spot for firestarters. Growing up in the Eastlands must have had a strong effect on your formative years. Watching their tribes passing through. Playing in the hot springs. Finding fun rocks.” His gaze lowered to the pendant at Yuuri’s chest. “Seemingly harmless."

“He was harmless,” Yuuri stared at his feet, fists clenched with frustration. “He’s wearing a muzzle.”

"It's sad how you and Nikiforov defend these creatures." Seung-gil sighed, arms crossed. "They pretend to be civil but their magic is rooted in fire. Fire maddens them, unhinges them. Why do you think they dance the way they do? Logically, they're not much different from wild animals. They're dangerous and they should be treated as such."

Yuuri stood speechless for a moment. Not because the general's words sat well with him now, but because once, they were an absolute. These were common beliefs among the iceborn and non-elementals, in the Eastlands and the world over. As children, firestarters equaled to bogeymen waiting to snatch them up and carry them away to burn at a sacrificial pyre. The men, savages. The women, wanton sirens. Every fire related role in his childhood skits with Nishigori and Yuko amounted to a villain and little else. Seung-gil only parroted the beliefs of his family, friends and mentors. His childhood experiences had done little to challenge them.

Still he couldn't help but root for the mysterious blond man as he edged Leo further and further into the wood, toward a black and blue object resting against a tree. Its polished, metallic surface gleamed in the sun where the Evergreen branches parted and Yuuri realized that it was a vehicle of some sort. He clenched his fists. Just a little longer.

“H— He should at least get a trial,” Yuuri stammered, struggling to extend the conversation, to keep their attentions on him.

“A trial.” Seung-gil scoffed, focusing black, vacant eyes on Yuuri. “Have you ever seen what a firestarter’s magic can do? The black, charred bodies? The smell of burning flesh?”

Yuuri’s shoulders went stiff, his equilibrium failing him, stomach churning and tightening up into knots. Unwanted memories began to resurface but, before he could lose himself completely, the sound of a revving motor boomed in his ears, jolting him out of the spell. Seung-gil’s normally expressionless features contorted in surprise and his men spun on their heels just in time to see the blond speeding away with Leo strapped to the back of his motor sled.

“You don’t know what I’ve seen.” Yuuri said softly before backing away, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watched the guards scramble over themselves to keep an eye on the sled. The non-elemental guard relieved his weapon from its canister immediately and started forward, firing icy blasts into the wood. The other followed closely on his tail, sending ice shards toward the sound of the motor.

Yuuri grimaced. If those shards punctured the wheels or the engine, Leo and his friend were as good as frozen. As if on impulse, he closed his eyes, pressing his palms together. Power blossomed from his chest and pressed outward, whipping wildly inside of him until the hairs over his skin stood on end. He reached upward with perfect poise and, with a flourish of his hand, the energy exploded from his person, rocketing in a straight line through the ground before him, ridging the snow. A row of trees directly in the guards’ path shook, snow cascading from their branches and toppling over the men with enough force to bring them to their knees.

As their groaning filled the air and the sound of the motor drifted further and further away, Yuuri stared at the scene, wide eyed. He’d done it again! Pride filled him to the brim and then swiftly gave way to horror. He’d done it again… He blinked, frozen in place, stricken. He’d used the Goddess’s raw power for his own gain for a second time. And of all the reasons, to assist firestarters.

“Katsuki.” His focus zoomed back in on the scene and he noticed Seung-gil and his men staring at him. He nearly yelped, snatching his limbs in from the dancer’s pose and laughing nervously.

Seung-gil continued to peer into him, slitted eyes blatantly accusing. “You uprooted trees, right? At the palace rink?”

“Ah…” Yuuri trailed off, heartbeat hammering. “Um…”

“Doesn’t seem like something any dancer should be able to do.”

Yuuri started to inch away. “I think I hear Mickey calling me so…” he lied, waving. “I have to go!” With that, he took off racing back into the woods, the Goddess’s energy still buzzing at the surface of his skin. He didn’t blame the general for being suspicious. He was confused himself. Why had the Goddess allowed him this? And what good would it do him at her shrine where his elemental magic was most important?

He traveled further and further in the wood, the shadows of the pine trees dancing over him, the sky shading darker with noon. The day’s first snowfall had began, tiny flecks swaying slowly toward the ground, kissing the exposed skin of his face lightly with frost and blanketing the forest in silence. The wood grew more and more quiet the farther he roamed, away from the bumbling guards, from Seung-gil’s cool words and Michele’s rage. This is what he’d wanted, he thought as he adjusted his parka, pulling the puffy material tighter around him. A quiet place to wander. So then why did he still feel so on edge?

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned in its direction. A shadowy figure stared straight back at him from behind an Evergreen trunk just meters away and he stiffened in place, adrenaline surging, pupils dilating. The figure vanished the moment he’d spotted it and he gasped, conflicting thoughts battling in his mind. Should he try to get a closer look or rush back to the palace as though his life depended on it? What if it actually did?

“H— Hello?” he called weakly. Perhaps it was Michele, sad and sullen over another futile hunt?

Nothing but a steady stream of silence greeted him, save for the faint sound of wind whistling through the trees overhead. Michele would have responded.

Best to leave, Yuuri decided as he pulled his phone from his pocket to summon his compass application with quivering fingers. His eyes darted nervously to the spot the shadowy figure had stood and back to the screen. If he could just find his way out of this maze…

A sudden vrooming noise roared from behind him and he flinched, spinning around to face it. The blue and black motor sled from earlier appeared at the base of a snow mound. It climbed the hill steadily, pulling to a stop just before him. The rider drew his helmet from his head and shook his dark blond tresses out before turning on Yuuri with a charming grin and deep blue eyes that somehow eased the growing anxiety in his gut. Leo’s helmeted head fell forward against the man’s back, still out cold. Yuuri frowned, concern creasing his brow. He had hoped he’d at least be conscious by now.

“Hey!” the blond greeted him. “Thanks for your help back there!” He made a sign with his hand, the tips of his fingers all pressed together and facing the sky. Yuuri recognized the symbol immediately, a forbidden one meant to resemble a flame. “Resistance!”

“Oh!” Yuuri straightened up, an awkward grin spreading over his lips. His eyes fell instinctively to the man’s wrist, searching for his muzzle. “No problem, um…” He trailed off, eyes widening when he realized the blond wasn’t wearing one. “Um…”

“Emil!” He filled in the blank and shook Yuuri’s hesitant hand. “Look…” His gaze flitted backward at the unmoving man behind him. “I tried to tie him in, but he won’t wake up and he keeps falling sideways. I need someone on the back to steady him or we’ll never make it out of here.”

Yuuri gulped, eyes still rooted on Emil’s wrists. He wanted to help, but every molecule in his body willed him not to get on the sled. His first experience riding one from the Capitol Station with Phichit certainly didn’t ease his discomfort, but riding with an unmuzzled firestarter was the nail in the coffin. Helping them escape from Seung-gil’s wrath was one thing, but this… “Your…” he paused, looking away, almost embarrassed to ask. “Your muzzle…?”

Emil simply blinked at him, confused. “I’m non-E. I don’t need one?”

Relief instantly swept through Yuuri’s chest, loosening his stubborn resolve. A non-elemental. Before he could consider it again, there was noise in the brush behind him. He and Emil turned toward it, finding nothing. Yuuri remembered the dark figure and his chest constricted again. Hopping on the motor sled wasn’t ideal, but being left alone in the silent, vacant forest unnerved him just as much.

“Shit,” Emil cursed. “That might be them.” He turned back to face Yuuri. “Will you help me or not?”

Yuuri stared at him and then at Leo, conflicting answers battling on his tongue.

“Over here!” A familiar voice called. The soldiers. Emil cursed again.

“Okay,” Yuuri said, climbing on the back of the sled. He immediately fastened himself in behind Leo and when Emil advised him to hold on tight, he complied, linking his arms around both their waists. With that, they were off and Yuuri could already feel his stomach flipping as they soared through the wood, darting around trees, just missing a few.

"Sorry I don't have a helmet for you!"

"Heh," Yuuri attempted a weak laugh, his stomach plunging.

“So…” Emil started as he narrowly avoided melding with an Evergreen trunk. “Are you an elemental?”

“Yeah…” Yuuri shouted over the motor, purposefully failing to specify which kind.

Emil chuckled. “Well, you’re not wearing _your_ muzzle.”

Yuuri didn’t respond to this, but his arms noticeably tensed around their waists as Leo’s weight fell on his right side.

“Ah, it’s alright,” Emil laughed, raising his hand, contorting it into the flame symbol again. The sled swiveled recklessly. “Fight the power!”

Yuuri joined in his laughter, but it was high-pitched and closer to the beginnings of a sob than mirth. He decided to change the subject. “Are we taking him to a doctor?”

“A doctor? Emil scoffed. “Why? So they can pretend to save him and leave him on a stretcher, worse than before? Or dead?” He shook his head. “You can’t trust them to save fire folk. What are you, new?”

Yuuri simply faced downward as they made their way out of the maze of trees and into a clearing. He hadn’t considered that. But it couldn’t be right, could it? He tried to remember a fire elemental with an injury in his past and realized he didn’t really know any personally. Not until recently.

“Okay, here’s the jump.”

Yuuri’s stomach folded into one big knot. “The jump?”

“The only area with a hill tall and slanted enough to get over the gate,” Emil explained. “It’s how we got in.”

“Oh,” Yuuri squeaked, chest thudding so harshly he feared he might have a heart attack. “I probably shouldn’t leave the palace…”

Emil paid no mind to him while revving up, a daredevil’s smirk on his features, and Yuuri held fast for dear life. They started off at an unbelievable speed, up the snowy incline, and Yuuri didn’t stop screaming from the moment the undercarriage separated from the ground, til they landed on the mountains outside of the gates with a hard jolt.

“Ah man!” Emil cried, exhilarated as they traveled up, up, up through glistening mounds of snow, the city growing smaller below them. “I never get tired of that!” He turned to glance over his shoulder. “How are you guys doing?”

Leo swayed lifelessly in Yuuri’s arms and Yuuri blanched, pale as the snow.

Emil chuckled. “You’re pretty nervous for a fireborn, huh?” he joked. “It’s alright. That was the probably the worst of it.”

Probably?

They traveled so high into the mountains and so quickly that Yuuri decided it was a bit too dizzying to watch the ridges and trees fly by in a blur, the pathways and people becoming miniature beneath him. He focused instead on Leo’s immobile form before him, red tresses whipping haphazardly in the wind, features oddly serene.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Yuuri asked.

“Hm?” Emil frowned. “Oh yeah! You guys are made stronger than that! A chill level that intense would have killed an average person.” He glanced back at Yuuri with teasing eyes. “Good thing they didn’t catch me, eh?”

“This um…” Yuuri started, attempting to phrase his words as less of a question and more a jaded comment. He had to feign some expertise. “This happens all the time…”

“All the time,” Emil sighed. “And it’s getting worse everyday. Especially after Giacometti’s stupid initiative.”

Yuuri’s attention perked.

“I know the guy means well, but working with the capitol just wasn’t the way to do it.” He shrugged. “And they say he’s practically in bed with the Primaja. It’s embarrassing.”

Yuuri grimaced, an ugly feeling settling over him, clawing at his insides. “Huh.”

“They’ll make empty promises, you know? But they’ll never give fire folk the respect they deserve.” Emil’s eyes narrowed. “We have to take it.”

Yuuri gripped Leo tighter, his anxiety flaring. Take it how?

“It’s crazy what the council thinks they can get away with. Sneaking poisons that debilitate fire folk into the food and water supply. Muzzles that can drain an entire fire population’s magic at once. Factories and heat plants where they harness their power to generate electricity…”

Yuuri gasped, his face going pale and numb from more than just cold. “Wh— where did you hear this?”

“Gossip mostly,” Emil admitted.

Yuuri gave an internal sigh of relief.

“But the factory thing is definitely true,” Emil said. “My buddy Guang Hong worked in one.”

Yuuri’s chest seized. Guang Hong. He remembered the boy sobbing and begging into the marble while Seung-gil dragged him about like a rag doll. The odd, hefty blue jump suit. Flame retardant, he realized.

“They used the employment initiative,” Emil went on in a thin voice. “Tricked him into thinking it was an actual job. Nearly killed him.”

Yuuri felt his mouth going dry, the papillae of his tongue scratchy against his chapped lips when he licked them. Surely the council wouldn’t head something like this, wouldn’t let it stand. Not with Celestino at the board. Did Chris even realize his initiative was being used in this manner?

“He wouldn’t have been the first,” Emil continued. “They kill fire folk all the time once they’re done using their magic and just brush it under the rug. Chalk it up to brawls with other fire folk.”

“The council…” Yuuri nearly choked. “They can’t know about something like that. They would put a stop to it.”

 Emil turned to glance at him over his shoulder again and the look rooted Yuuri in place. It was the first time seeing it on the jovial man’s face, brows creased, lips snarling downward. Suspicious.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Emil asked. “You think the council gives a damn about a firestarter?”

Yuuri’s breathing halted, tongue tied. “Eh… um…”

“They’ll sacrifice one of them in a heartbeat for their own. I think they’d murder all of them at once if they thought they could get away with it.

Yuuri remembered Michele’s and Seung-gil’s words and bit his lip.

“And they keep blaming the fire folk for the Fire God’s power increasing.” He chuckled wryly. “I’m sure their fucking factories have something to do with it.” He shrugged. “But the uppercrust of the capitol can’t live without their warmth and electricity, can they?”

“That’s…” Yuuri trailed off, his hands trembling. “Terrible…”

  
Emil nodded. “I know. That’s why I came up here. My family’s been fighting this type of thing for decades,” he explained, veering the sled into a sudden turn and dipping slightly on a steady decline onto a narrow pathway carved into the side of the mountain. “But we won’t have to much longer. Now that the Fire God has called J.J.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. “J.J?”

Emil nodded. “Yup. With him, we can free the Fire God and end this damned snowstorm forever.”

Yuuri recalled the likeness of the land before the Fire God’s imprisonment in museums and history books. Flame and lava. Blackened earth. Who would want to return to that?

“You want the world to burn?” he croaked, thinking of Hasetsu where many fields of white plain had already been scorched and inflamed.

Emil raised an eyebrow. “You want to keep it frozen?”

Yuuri fell into silence for a while, stunned. How many fire folk and their supporters felt this way? Was Chris’s initiative really just a utopian fantasy? Nothing answered his thoughts but the roaring motor, sometimes close by and others faraway. Yuuri’s eyes widened. It sounded like two. Two motors.

He leaned forward into Emil. “Do you hear someone following us?”

Emil frowned. “Huh? No way. I’m the only one who knows about this short cut.” He waved him off. “If they are, we’re about to lose them anyway. Here’s where we drop.”

Yuuri didn’t ask. He knew better by now. He simply squeezed and buried his face into the wooly fabric at the back of Leo’s jacket as the ground gave out beneath them. His own bird-like screeching and Emil’s excited cries blended together in a cacophony that reverberated from the walls of the dark tunnel as they plunged forward. They traveled deeper and deeper at lightening speeds until they reached level ground somewhere deep within the earth, the air of the tunnels damp and dank. Emil howled with adrenaline fueled laughter and oddly enough, Yuuri found himself laughing as well— albeit nervously. This looked to be an abandoned area, embedded in the ground, a network of dark corridors with rounded stone ceilings. The motor’s volume steadily decreased and Yuuri realized that they were sliding to a stop in a sconce lit area. He stared ahead into the endless black abyss, nothing easing the silence but the sound of water trickling in the distance. The smell of damp earth filled his nostrils. Where were they? And how was he going to get back to the palace?! He hadn’t thought to ask if Emil would take him back that evening. Certainly, if the capitol misplaced a Primaja in line, there would be a calamity by nightfall.

He turned to Emil with apprehensive eyes. “Wh— Where are we?”

Before the blond could answer, someone came racing from an adjacent corridor, flashlight in hand.

“Leo!” they cried and Yuuri turned to see a familiar face bounding toward them, fists pumping in the air, brown eyes frantic. “Is he okay?!”

Guang Hong. Yuuri immediately stepped back as the boy neared the sled, yanking his hat down over his eyes and pulling his blue parka collar in tight around his chin.

“I think so,” Emil sighed. “We almost got into the palace this time before they caught us. It was Seung-gil and his men again.”

Guang Hong’s shoulders trembled as he pulled Leo from the sled. Leo slumped lifelessly downward and the smaller boy tackled him around the chest, dragging him backwards.

“I hate him,” he murmured into a tuft of Leo’s dark red hair, delicate features thin and tense. His eyes suddenly flickered upward at Yuuri. They narrowed. “Who is that?”

“Oh, he’s cool! He helped us escape!” Emil announced, patting Yuuri on the back. “Couldn’t have done it without um…” He raised an eyebrow before laughing awkwardly. “Ah man! I never even got your name.”

Yuuri’s stomach dropped. “Er…”

“What are you doing?!” A frustrated voice called and a young woman with familiar eyes stepped into the tunnel from where Guang Hong had come, long dark hair flowing down her back. “Get him in here!”

“Yes ma’am!” Emil saluted with a grin. They all surrounded Leo from either side, Yuuri included, and lifted him up, edging slowly toward a smaller corridor that branched off from the larger one. The very end of the short tunnel shined with warm light. Flame from the four scones that covered the stone walls licked upward and created shadows on the group of mattresses and sheets. Full knapsacks sat beside the makeshift beds, packed with clothing, packaged food and other supplies. A camp.

They eased Leo down onto a mattress closest to the wall. The woman immediately pulled a band of tools from the utility pouch around the waist of her pants and began working over him, her brow set.

“He probably can’t heal with this thing on.”

Yuuri realized what she was working so hard at removing and his nerves flared, the expression on his features blatantly contrasting with the rest of the group when she finally succeeded.

“Yes!” Guang Hong cheered, fists pumping.

“How did you get so good at that?” Emil gave her a playful bump on the shoulder.

“Years of practice.” She shrugged, slapping her palms together repeatedly.

Yuuri remained silent and hoped that no one would notice the troubled look in his eyes. All fireborn were fitted with muzzles as children and only allowed removal under special and rare circumstances. Removing a muzzle was supposed to be next to impossible- and punishable by exile or death. It required a very specific set of tools only kept by law enforcers and government officials of a certain status. Common folk certainly shouldn’t have the ability— especially not a rebel faction. A low groan jarred him front his thoughts and he registered that it had come from the mattress. His chest fluttered with relief as Leo began to come to.

“Ugh.” The man blinked tired brown eyes. “Where am I?”

“Leo!” Guang Hong cried, throwing his arms around his neck. Leo winced, obviously still bruised from the altercation earlier, before giving a feeble laugh.

“Hey.” He patted the trembling boy’s head. “I’m okay.” He blinked up confused at the other three. “I think?”

“General Li’s men attacked you,” Emil explained, walking around the mattress to sit down beside him. He gave Leo’s shoulder a soft squeeze. “We barely got away.”

Guang Hong whimpered into his chest and Leo’s eyes widened. “What?” He examined his person, fingers traveling up his arms, massaging at his neck as though it were sore. “I was wearing a muzzle!”

“Has that ever stopped them before?” the woman asked, letting the black muzzle tumble to the stone, scowling at it as though it were an insect. She turned accusing eyes on them. “I told you not to go.”

Emil frowned. “We still need to figure out how to break the shrine's barrier.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clasped. Yuuri tensed, settling into a corner of the space, only a thin line of his face showing between his hat and the collar of his coat.

“Something’s gotta be in the sacred texts or the council’s files—”

“Haven’t you heard?!” she snapped, cutting him off. “J.J has a secret in at the palace! If we’ve already got someone on the inside, there’s no need to endanger yourselves!” She gestured to the youngest of the group. “Remember what they did to Guang Hong?! He still has the scar!”

Guang Hong’s eyes lowered to his side, trailing over the lining of his t-shirt sleeve. He ran his fingers over the skin there— splotchy, red and raised. The mark didn’t end there, Yuuri realized. The same ugly mar protruded just over his collar, twisting and contorting the skin. An ice burn. His jaw set, the memory of Guang Hong scrambling desperately over the ballroom floors in a futile attempt to escape resurfacing. The burn hadn’t been there then. Fire was one thing, but ice didn’t burn that fast or that easily. How badly had Seung-gil and the capitol guard tortured him to leave this kind of mark? His stomach leadened and lurched, the feeling climbing up his throat. He stepped forward without realizing it.

“They did that to you?” he asked, his voice shaky. “The capitol?”

He was met with odd glances, confusion muddling their brows. The air in his lungs grew thin as confusion steadily gave way to suspicion under the dim firelight. He flinched then, remembering the reason he’d been so quiet in the first place. He wasn’t supposed to be here. If they found him out…

“Who are you?” the woman started toward him, arms crossed.

“Ah…” He gave a high-pitched laugh. “I— I was just passing through and they looked like they needed my help!” he explained, a slight tremor in his voice. He zipped around to Emil. “I should probably be getting back into town now!”

“Ah, sure.” Emil nodded, the confused frown transforming into his usual smile. “Be cool, Sara. He’s fireborn like you guys and all about the Resistance! He doesn’t mean any harm!”

“Sara?” Yuuri blinked, suddenly realizing why her eyes looked so familiar. Deep violet like those he’d grown so accustomed to in the past month. Though not quite as intense… “Sara Crispino?”

Sara moved in closer, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled as though she smelled something funny. “Yeah?”

“Um…” He backed away, fist clutching his collar over his chin. “I thought you had been kidnapped! Y— Your brother said—”

“He knows Mickey!” Emil squealed. “We grew up together!”

Sara groaned, rolling her eyes. “Mickey’s an idiot! He’s been saying that ever since I left home because he can’t face the truth!” She clenched her fists. “I’m here because I want to be! Our parents made me hide who I was my whole life. I’m not going to keep playing non-E just because he can’t deal with a fireborn for a sister!”

Yuuri shrank into the corner, eyes wide with fright as they trailed her hands for any sign of elemental activity.

She surveyed him with skeptical eyes. “How did a fire dancer have an entire conversation about me with my firephobic brother and live to tell the tale anyway?” She stepped forward, narrowing the space between them until Yuuri trembled violently under his coat. “And for that matter, why did the general let you go?”

Yuuri just swallowed hard under her shrewd scrutiny as she closed the space between them and snatched the ‘Eastlands Sea Lions’ cap from over his eyes. His hair flew up in disarray and he immediately moved to cover his face. Her eyes went wide with shock.

“Crap!” she cried, dropping the cap. “It’s Katsuki!” She pointed him square in the face. “Katsuki Yuuri from the capitol!”

“The new Primaja?!” Leo stood from the mattress to get a better look and Guang Hong gasped from beside him.

“No way!” Emil’s surprise was perhaps the most shocked of them all. “I totally thought he was one of you guys!”

“He’s wearing a Sea Lions cap!” Sara scowled at him.

“I thought that was a fire team!”

“Sea lions?!” she cried. “Besides he’s a Primaja in line! Have you even been keeping up with the news, Emil?!”

“Not really,” Emil scratched the back of his neck, shoulders hunching forward, a sheepish grin on his lips.

“Typical Non-E Southlander activist,” she grumbled under her breath, pointed eyes glaring into Yuuri. “What the hell are we going to do with him now?”

They all started away from the mattress, advancing on Yuuri, who burrowed further into the corner. A cold sweat broke out all over his skin, his breath tight in his throat. He wanted to do something. Say something. To call for the Goddess’s help. But he couldn’t even think. He only stared in horror, terrified of what they might say next. Of what they might do.

“I mean,” Leo started, his tone grim. “We could get rid of him.”

“‘Get rid’ of him?!” Sara turned disbelieving eyes on him. “We can’t kill a Primaja! Are you crazy?! The capitol would turn us into ice picks by nightfall!”

“Maybe if we just keep him here.” Guang Hong frowned, wringing anxiously at his own fingers. “He tried to help when the general was taking me away. More than Giacometti did anyway…” he muttered bitterly.

“Oh please.” Sara rolled her eyes. “He’s still an iceborn.” She turned to glower at him. “I saw a clip of your Quarter Ball debut. How did it feel ripping off our dances for the capitol’s amusement while they hunt us down like dogs?”

Yuuri swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded and then realized that he actually meant it, guilt willing his gaze down. “Please…”

“We can interrogate him later,” Leo offered. "Let's trap him in a ring for now."

A ring. A ring of fire. Yuuri’s heart went wild, his skin burning all over at just the thought. Leo reached out, one hand extended and he began hyperventilating, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “No!”

Leo blinked and then frowned, bringing his hand back into him, staring down at it. Then, before he could speak, a monstrous eruption exploded from somewhere in the distance, rocking the tunnels all around them. They all turned to the tunnel exit.

“What the hell was that?” Sara and Emil asked together.

Yuuri blinked his breathing still heavy. While he had become accustomed to being the cause of strange happenings in the past month, this most certainly hadn’t come from him. He’d been too mortified, too useless to will his own feet to move let alone summon that sort of power. He trembled, now with self- loathing rather than fear.

“Look!” Emil pointed upward and they followed his gaze to see a haze of bright red coloring the stone of the domed tunnel ceilings, traveling rapidly down the expanse toward them.

Yuuri’s eyes widened, features twisted in horror. Fire! Without thinking, he jetted into the main tunnel and swerved in opposite direction of the red shadow, whatever had him rooted him in place evaporated.

“CATCH HIM!” Sara cried and Yuuri pounded the stone faster, crimson color drowning him from every side. He sped past the motor sled, past the sconce light and into darkness. The tunnel they had entered from was far too steep. He would have to find another way. Seeing nothing but darkness up ahead, the red color gaining and promising the coming of fire, he turned into a random tunnel to his right and scrambled down as far as it would take him.

“He turned there!” he heard Guang Hong’s voice echoing behind him and cursed silently to himself. He began to change his stride, adjusting his weight so that his footfalls didn’t land as audibly as before. Thank the Goddess for his training as a dancer. He moved silently into the darkness, deeper and deeper until the reddened entrance of the tunnel was a mere dot. Breathing heavy, he threw a glance over his shoulder just in time to catch the shadows of the rebel band hovering at the entrance. His breath caught. And then something strange happened.

Actual flame stretched over the entrance of the tunnel he’d entered, shielding it like a door, protecting him. Yuuri could barely catch their cries of protest echoing from the other end.

He blinked for a second in disbelief before spinning on his heel and making his way further down before the flame decided to turn inward on him. Faraway as it was, the flame dimly illuminated the end of the tunnel where an iron ladder perched to the side. He climbed as quickly as his burning legs could carry him ascending higher and higher until he reached the plated opening. He pushed, terrified at the possibility of it being locked. When it gave, natural light peering through, he gave an internal cheer of “Yes!” and nearly hurtled himself through the opening. He scrambled out onto the messy ground and he didn’t think he’d ever been happier to see salt and snow. He promptly jammed the plate back into place as tightly as he could, half expecting the metal to turn white hot or for flame to explode from the ground in a fountain. When it didn’t, he fell onto his back beside it, breathing heavy, chest pounding visibly under his parka.

What had just happened? It was almost as though the mysterious flame had a life of its own, but he knew better. Someone was at the other end of that explosion, pulling the strings. Someone had directed the flame. Helped him. A firestarter. But who?

The rush in his ears began to die away and he could make out voices in the distance. He lifted his head and glanced around. He’d escaped beneath a bridge in a small park, children scrambling over the snow, throwing balls of frost and flapping their arms to make imprints of angels. He had no idea where he was, but if the darkening evening sky was any indication, Mickey was in a hot water with the capitol right now.

With a great sigh, he moved to pull his phone from the side pocket of his parka. He’d better rescue him. And quickly. If he was lucky, he could request an audience with Celestino that night.

_You think the council gives a damn about a firestarter?_

The questions had been building up from day one, echoing in his mind until he couldn’t stand them anymore. And if anyone could provide answers, it was an elder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot happened here so if you have questions, please ask away and I will answer anything that is spoiler free.


	11. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read this before, you'll note that this chapter has been heavily edited. Ditto for the nest four chapters. I began to feel disenchanted with this story and I believe that started with this chapter. I like the order that I've rewritten it in much better.

The fourth level of the palace seemed unremarkable: a few praise rooms, a music room and an infirmary. At least when you accessed it from the main stairs. A fleet of guards manned the one and only back stairwell that led to a secret area of the floor. The Elders' Quarter.

A group of armed, solemn faced men greeted Yuuri upon arrival to the vacant, dimly lit foyer. The woman at the head excused herself to announce him, leaving him to shuffle his feet restlessly upon the blood hued carpeting. The quarter offered no chairs. Even with its spacious lobby, sparkling stone ceilings and polished, wood paneling, the thick silence pervading the entire floor felt suffocating. Foreboding, as though at any moment, the windowless walls would shrink in to crush him. Relief came when the woman returned to send him in for his meeting with Celestino.

He'd been busy the night before when Yuuri returned from his little excursion. In fact, Yuuri hadn’t seen much of Celestino at all since arriving in the capitol. Initially, Yuuri attributed this to Elder duties and JJ's threat, but now Yuuri wondered just how much— or little— he knew about his mentor's activities. 

He reached the edge of the narrow hall leading to The Elder Circle, where two stern faced men with bowed heads opened the oak doors, twin inscriptions of the Goddess carved on either side. Yuuri's shoulders tensed at finding the majority of the council present— all except for the elusive Cao Bin- the Southlands representative and the youngest of the four.

  
“Hello,” Yuuri greeted them with a meek wave, unmoving from his spot at the door. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected— walls inscribed with ancient hieroglyphics, a collection of towering likenesses of the Goddess, the mystical fantasy and intrigue of the secret room hidden at the crest of the palace… The Elder Circle possessed none of that, a quaint, oak paneled room with a circular table at the center and nothing more. Save for a few lamps extending from the walls, electronic tablets, and, of course, its three occupants. They glanced up to stare at him and he swallowed hard.

“Yuuri?” Celestino lowered his tablet to the tabletop and peered at him with concerned green eyes. “You said it was important?”

Elder Feltsman gave a great gravelly sigh, his fingers running across the top of his balding head and pausing to massage at his temples. “Is this about Vitya?” he growled. “That man is beyond reason. He—”

“No,” Yuuri cut in. He thought back to the secret room where they’d shared a bed, color and light pooling in from the overhead mural. “We talked about it,” he finished with a small grin, a hint of redness on his cheeks.

“Then what is it, boy?” Elder Baranovskaya’s holding gaze narrowed in on him, lips pouting downward. She adjusted the thick, white furs draped over her shoulders. “Don’t tell me it’s only just occurred to you to apologize for that debacle at the ball.”

Yuuri’s stomach clenched and he briefly considered spinning on his heel and marching straight back to his chambers. “I— I do apologize—!”

Another sigh from Elder Feltsman. “Let it go, Lilia. Vitya’s done worse.” He started in on the other temple. “Remember that thong phase?”

Lilia shuddered under her furs. “How could I forget?” She made a face. “It’s the influence of that firestarter. You never should have let them get close.”

Seeing an in, Yuuri inserted himself. “That’s what I wanted to talk about!” he blurted and they spun in his direction. “Er… the fire folk.”

“I’ll handle this.” Celestino stood to his feet, dark, ribboned hair sweeping behind him. “Follow me, Yuuri.”

He led him out of the double doors and back down the narrow hall. There, they made a sharp left turn into a small study with one desk and a few dusty file cabinets. Only a thin sliver of light brightened the room from a slight window overhead. Shutting the door behind them, he urged Yuuri to sit down and took the seat opposite him at the head of the desk. He folded his hands together and stared straight into him, searching. “Tell me what happened.”

Yuuri remained silent, his mouth going dry. This wasn’t how he planned it. Or rather, he hadn’t planned this confrontation at all. The accusations and evidence he witnessed the day before enraged him, his curiosity and the determination to prove them wrong insatiable. He’d hoped the same fervor would encourage him today, but no words came. Countless critical thoughts hurtled through his mind, from power plants harnessing fire folks' magic to Seung-gil’s torture. From talk of breaking the shrine's barrier to the double agent in the palace.

“A few things…” Yuuri managed. “I heard… Is it possible…” He shuffled his feet, gathering courage. Seconds passed and he jerked up to meet Celestino's gaze. “That plants are using fire folk’s magic like furnaces?” he forced. “To power the capitol?”

Celestino’s eyebrows leapt an inch. “What?”

“It’s just something I heard.” Yuuri threaded his hands and squeezed to comfort himself. “I wanted to know if it was true. And if you knew anything about it.”

Celestino leaned back in his chair with folded arms, eyes piercing into Yuuri. “Gossip," he said. "Propaganda for the rebellion.” A few rogue brown strands shook with his head. “It’s important to be wary around fire folk, but they’re still human.”

A tightness in Yuuri's chest loosened and melted, his shoulders relaxing.

“The council would never allow something like that.”

“I see.” Yuuri nodded, but a crease remained on his brow. Even if Emil was just feeding into JJ’s propaganda, Guang Hong claimed to have experienced the power plants firsthand. Yuuri had seen the flame retardant suit himself.

“Is it possible that it could happen behind the council’s back?” he asked. Elder Baranovskaya’s disapproving expression came to mind. “Or maybe some members of the council are aware—”

“Are you implying that I don’t know what’s going on in my own court?”

Yuuri froze, breath catching in his throat. “N— No!” he waved his hands. “It’s just with the rumors about your father, they might think—”

“Rumors about my father?” Celestino asked with a raised brow and Yuuri paled. It hadn’t occurred to him that Celestino wouldn’t know. How could he not? Everyone had heard the stories, from the Eastlands over.

“Oh…” Yuuri attempted to shrug it off, hoping the darkness of the small study obscured his panicked expression. “It’s nothing. Forget I said any—”

"It's alright." Celestino chuckled. "It's true.”

Yuuri cut off. “What?”

“It’s true, Yuuri.” Celestino leaned forward onto the desk, perching his chin on folded, calloused hands, strained sunlight catching the wrinkles under his eyes. “Grandson of a Primaja. Son of a firestarter,” he muttered.

"B- But how?" Yuuri asked and instantly felt stupid for it.

Celestino shrugged with a small grin. “I suppose my mother was rebellious after living in her own mother's shadow for so long.” He sighed. “It backfired of course.”

“You never talk about your parents,” Yuuri whispered. “So I never thought to ask. I didn’t realize…” he trailed off, mind piecing the puzzle together. “You grew up at your grandparents', didn’t you?”

Celestino nodded, lips tugging under, fingers pulled taut where his hands folded.

“So,” Yuuri started, already knowing he wouldn’t like the answer. “What happened to them?”

“My mother died.” Celestino stared at his hands for a bit, rolling his thumbs over the folds. “At my dad's hand.” He said the words as though reciting a line that long ceased to move him, almost aloof. “She couldn't fight him. A non-elemental. He tried to kill me too.” He pulled the sleeve of his black dress shirt up to show the dark, uneven ring of scar tissue just below the elbow on his right arm.

Yuuri’s gut lurched at the second scar he’d observed in the past 24 hours, one carved by ice and now fire. He leaned back in the chair, his mind conflicted with rivaling emotions. He’d come to discuss the capitol’s brutality against fire folk, only to have his own prejudices justified. How could he defend the fire folk to Celestino when his own fireborn father committed an unforgivable atrocity against him? Was it even worth trying? He thought of his own childhood, of his lost magic and of Vicchan. A surprising kinship with his mentor kindled and he reached out to take his hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know.” Celestino nodded, his lips stretching into a grin that crinkled the tanned edges of his eyes. “Yuuri,” he started, his expression going serious. “I hated fire folk for years. I wanted them all dead.”

Yuuri gulped, his mouth dry and salty as the words hit closer to home than he would have liked.

  
“It was a long time before I realized that every firestarter I met was not my father. Just like I am not my father.”

“Right.” Yuuri nodded, squeezing Celestino's hand. He let the silence sit and thicken, settling in with the dusty air of the room and the old wooden furniture.

“Seung-gil and his men tortured a boy at the palace until they scarred him. A fireborn.” The words barreled out into the quiet. “And then another man on the grounds. It didn’t…” He took his hand back, his fingers trembling. “It didn’t seem right.”

“I see.” Celestino grimaced, gaze going dark. “Lady Baranovskaya isn’t quite as… tolerant of fire folk as I am. Most of her guard is the same.” He sighed. “Northlanders are like that.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Then maybe she’s behind the power plants—”

Celestino gave a deep, rumbling sigh. “Yuuri, there are no power plants.”

“Well…” Yuuri started, Guang Hong’s jaded, young features fresh in his memory. “Even if it’s just her guard, shouldn’t we do something about it?”

Celestino stared at him for a while, eyes focused as though solving a puzzle. “Yuuri,” he said. “Do you support the rebellion?”

The tone was not accusing. He’d asked as though inquiring about breakfast that morning or how well he'd slept. Yuuri reacted with enough indignation for them both.

“Wh— what?!” He shot up violently, nearly tipping his chair over. “No! I would never! I just don’t think…” He wrung his fingers, eyes on the tabletop. “… anyone deserves to be treated that way.”

Celestino chuckled. “I see.” He nodded. “Neither do I. I’ll talk to Lady Baranovskaya about this immediately.”

A smile broke out across Yuuri’s lips, the space between his brow relaxing. “Thank you, Celestino.”

“And I’ll look into the power plant rumor too,” Celestino gave him a knowing look. “If you promise not to leave the palace unattended again.”

Yuuri tensed.

“Mickey told me he lost you for a while yesterday.” Celestino crossed his arms. “I take it you weren’t just getting in some extra practice.”

“Eh…” A goofy smile passed over Yuuri’s lips and he scratched at the back of his neck. “I was just doing some sightseeing…” he lied, suddenly grateful that he hadn’t mentioned Emil and the others. Even with Celestino on his side, who knows what Elder Baranovskaya would order if Seung-gil found their hideout? If Yuuri told them they’d mentioned an ‘in’ in the palace, would they accuse Chris or another innocent firestarter? He couldn’t let someone else die because of him…

 _But what if it is Chris?_  his mind posed and the relief Celestino’s support brought him curdled in his stomach. Shouldn’t he say something?

“Any news about JJ?” he asked, fidgeting uncomfortably.

  
“No.” Celestino frowned and shook his head. “But the military is working tirelessly to find him. And to protect the capitol and the shrine.”

Yuuri nodded, the words putting him slightly more at ease.

  
“You care a lot about the people here, don’t you, Yuuri?” Celestino asked with a smile, chin resting in his palm. “All of them.”

“Hm?” Yuuri blinked.

Celestino laughed. “I knew you’d be perfect for this.” His gaze drifted toward the narrow window. “I knew it a long time ago.”

A soft blush colored Yuuri's cheeks. “Thanks, coach.” He smiled, using the old moniker. Celestino had been his very first, after all.

“Speaking of, shouldn’t you be with Victor?” Celestino asked. “He’s back today, isn’t he?”

Yuuri jumped to his feet, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “Victor’s back?!”

“Yeah.” Celestino started at his reaction. “Him and Plisetsky should be at the indoor rink in the basement. It’s the little one’s birthday.” He chuckled. “Maybe he’ll outgrow some of that attitude.”

“Doubt it,” Yuuri replied with a wry grin as he headed for the door. “I better go. Thanks so much for listening, Celestino." He bowed. "You’ll talk to them, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Celestino nodded. He peered at Yuuri, eyes thoughtful. “Anything else, Yuuri?”

Yuuri stopped, his hand on the brass doorknob.

 _We still need to figure out how to break the shrine’s barrier_ , Emil’s words echoed in his head.

“That’s all.” He shrugged with a smile and left the study, leaving the elder alone in the dark.

 

* * *

  
   
“Happy birthday, Yurio!” Yuuri greeted, gliding onto the ice of the spacious underground rink, LED ceiling fixtures bathing them in white light. He held a chocolate cupcake from the kitchens in hand, with an orange and purple ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ reading across the top.

“Eat shit, pig,” the blond responded with a death glare, his scowl twisting more and more the closer Yuuri drew in.

Yuuri gave a short laugh. “I guess you don’t want this then.” He sat the cupcake down upon the grey divider. Still unforgiven for his stunt at the ball apparently… “How old are you now?”

“What did I just say?!” Yuri barked, hands on his hips.

“He’s 15,” Otabek volunteered from the other side of the rail and Yuri turned to seethe at him.

“DON’T TALK TO HIM, OTABEK!”

Yuuri searched the entire rink to his left and then to his right. No one. He tapped the blade of his skate against the ice, anxiety getting the better of him. “Where’s Victor?” he frowned at Yuri.

Yuri shrugged. “Haven't seen him.”

Yuuri's enthusiasm deflated. Had Celestino been wrong?

"I heard him being super loud with Makkachin this morning though," Yuri added, his features contorting in disdain. "Dog people are so annoying.”

So he was back! The sparks reignited. He just had to wait…

Lacking a favorable conversation partner and antsy from suspense, Yuuri took to the ice, doing figures and glancing up to stare at the door every couple of practices. Where was Victor? Did he even plan on returning to the rink today? Was he avoiding it, regretting his decision to coach Yuuri? Perhaps he overdid it the night of the ball as well and alcohol clouded his judgement...

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri resolved to perform a few peace dances to calm himself, accidentally moving into Yuri’s space. The boy predictably snapped at him and the adolescent rage reminded him of a dance he hadn’t performed in years. He eyed the doors of the rink again, searching for any approaching figures. Nothing. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to goof around a bit. He began the performance, arms moving languidly, hands outstretched like claws. He leaned back, stilled and then lurched forward with his hands, graceful but animalistic. Green eyes fixed on him from his peripheral and he grinned. As expected.

When Yuri realized he’d been caught, he immediately turned away. Yuuri continued on, swooping to each side as a predator would, launching out with his 'claws'. He noticed Yuri staring again.

“Yurio?” he asked.

“Don’t call me that!”

Yuuri laughed, halting his performance and turning to face the blond completely. “Do you want to join in?”

Yuri folded his arms, head turned to the ground, and muttered something. Yuuri frowned.

“Hm?”

“I don’t know that one!” Yuri snapped.

“Oh!” Yuuri blinked in disbelief. “It’s the Wildcat. A warmup dance. It’s one of the first you learn on—”

Pilgrimage. That's right. Yuri was only 15 and even when he did reach 16— the common age to begin Pilgrimage— he wouldn’t be allowed.

“Wildcat?” Yuri repeated, eyes widening. “Huh.” He leaned against the divider and waved dismissively at Yuuri. “You can keep going.”

Yuuri stared at him for a bit before shrugging. It had been worth a try. He thought over his memories from Pilgrimage and recalled The Swan, a patience dance. He lifted one arm gracefully, just high enough so that it wasn't dislocated when Yuri barked in his ear.

“Not that one!” Yuri demanded. “The one you were doing before!”

Yuuri massaged at his ear. “You want me to teach you?”

“That’s not what I said.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “I don't take lessons from pigs.”

Yuuri sighed, his temple bulging. Demanding though he was, he supposed he could teach Yuri this one dance. It was more than fitting and perhaps the boy would warm up to assisting him in the future. He took the stance again, his shoulders going fluid, fingers stretching into claws overhead.

“Looking good, Yuuri.” A voice carried over the rink, smooth and deep. 

Yuuri jerked his arms inward and spun around. Chris stepped through the double doors at the entrance, winking to accentuate his compliment. The Primaja stood at his side in a loose black t-shirt and slacks.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “I was doing fine on my own,” he muttered as the two neared the ice, whispering and laughing about something or the other.

Yuuri tensed when he noticed Chris’s arm snaked around the small of Victor’s back. Victor leaned into him, lips moving with words Yuuri couldn't decipher and Chris dropped the arm instantly, instead turning to face them.

“I think I found something you two have been missing," he teased.

“Yeah right.” Yuri scoffed, though his expression softened just a fraction as Victor neared him with a grin.

“Happy birthday, Yurio!” he greeted. “Sorry, I didn’t get you anything!”

“Chris just reminded you on the way over, didn’t he?” Yuri asked in a flat tone.

Victor laughed, loud and musical. “It’s true.” He shrugged. “You know I have a terrible memory.” His eyes settled on Yuuri, who drew in a deep breath, his entire frame braced for impact. He half expected the pale aqua blue to freeze and harden. Emotional exhaustion and the fleeting effects of alcohol blurred the morning they'd spent together. He could have imagined the guilt, the vulnerability and compassion.

Victor’s eyes did not freeze now. Rather, they appeared so molten, Yuuri thought he might cry. His lips curved into a familiar heart shape.

“Yuuri!” His steps quickened as he headed toward him, stopping just before the divider that separated the ground and the ice. “Sorry I’ve been gone so long! I hope Chris and Makkachin took care of you.”

Yuuri’s shoulders relaxed. “They did! Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy to start training.”

Victor leaned over the divider, the smell of his cologne, a gentle, floral scent wafting into Yuuri's nostrils. Yuuri tensed, face warm, tremors rising in his hands as he folded them together.

“What?!” Yuri roared. “You honestly expect me to share the rink with him?!”

“Yurio,” Victor turned, still grinning. “Yuuri is your rink mate now and we’re going to treat him as such. No more insults or errands,“ he said, tilting his head. “Unless you want to do push ups on your birthday that badly?”

Relief bloomed in Yuuri’s chest, loosening a thousand knots. Yuri's hands curled into fists and he began skating rapidly toward the opposite end of the rink, muttering violently under his breath.

The explicit curses barely reached Yuuri’s ears. “So,” he began earnestly. “Which sacred dance are we going over first? I know there are several you can use. I want to learn all of them eventually, but which do you think wou—“

"The sacred dances?" Victor frowned, tapping one finger against his cheek.

Yuuri's growing relief shrank. "All Primaja learn the sacred dances." He hoped the pleading in his eyes wasn't too off-putting."Y- You said you were going to coach me honestly, right?”

Victor's brow knitted, but he nodded, a smile on his lips. "Of course Yuuri.”

Yuuri released a tight breath.

"But I thought we could do something else today!" The smile stretched. "I just got back after all!"  
   
 Yuuri blinked. "S- Something else?”

"Let's celebrate Yurio's birthday!” the man gushed with a fervor that Yuuri had never seen him exhibit. “I'll pay for everything!”

“I’m not going anywhere with him!” the blond shot from across the rink.

Yuuri gripped the edge of the partition, thoughts conflicted. Shouldn’t they start training as soon as possible? The art of small talk eluded him and he’d already spilled his sob story a week before in a half drunken haze. He wanted Victor to see his strengths now. Not more of his weaknesses. And he couldn’t bear if he changed his mind again… “M— Maybe not today…”

Victor's smile deflated, but he recovered quickly enough.

“Then let's go over a few basic dances to start." He leaned in, his hands falling over Yuuri’s. The mysterious hum vibrated against his skin and Yuuri pulled them back instinctively, heat creeping up his neck. Luckily, Victor didn't pursue them further.

"Maybe you can show me the one you were teaching Yurio when I came in?”

"Oh," Yuuri said, mouth hanging open. Victor wanted to learn from _him_? His teenage self cartwheeled in the back of his mind where old daydreams resurfaced of practicing with Victor at his side. He half expected to blink himself awake, but Victor continued to stand before him, eyes almost as eager as he imagined his own. He drew in a deep breath.

  
“Okay," he nodded with a shaky grin and Victor beamed back at him in a way that melted the last flecks of tension in his chest. "But we'll go over the sacred dances tomorrow, right?”

Victor nodded. "Of course."


	12. The Sacred Dances

They didn't practice the sacred dances "tomorrow". Or the next day. Or the day after that.

In fact, Victor seemed perfectly content to never practice the sacred dances again. Instead they went over general dances of peace, protection and strength. Dances Yuuri perfected ages ago. He taught them the Wildcat and other Pilgrimage favorites— Victor watching with captive eyes and Yuri with reluctant interest. Soon they both knew them by heart. Victor invited him out to spas, state of the art recreational rinks, art museums, observatories and more. Yuuri fabricated an excuse each time.

He expected Victor had him figured out by now as there were only so many times the average person video chatted their family in a week and Phichit's busy schedule didn't allow for all the praise dancing Yuuri claimed they'd been doing. Still Victor powered on, never complaining when Yuuri ducked away with downcast eyes to avoid the smile crumbling on the Primaja's lips. 

In just two weeks, Victor had leapt from denouncing him to lavishing him with constant and undeserved attention and Yuuri felt wildly uncomfortable with both extremes. What if he couldn’t measure up? Would Victor go back to hating him? And what did Yuuri do to earn his resentment to begin with?

The changes extended beyond his attitude toward Yuuri. He'd expected Victor's ice visage to thaw to snow and frost, softer but still firm and waiting to freeze over again at any moment. Instead, he'd melted completely into a rushing brook of olden times, fluid and ever changing. His shoulders quivered when he laughed and the sound rang loud and bright. His features flickered to life when Yuuri performed a new dance or shared an interesting Pilgrimage tidbit. Every offhand comment produced new and unpredictable shades to color in the man he'd grown up admiring. Shades his countless posters and recorded performances never captured.

Victor’s renewed presence felt natural and somehow familiar. A cherished song long forgotten and just now played back to him. The cold tormentor vanished with every second spent until his current reality ceased to resemble a fleeting dream, the past a distant nightmare.

Still, no matter how much Victor softened in his eyes or marveled and applauded him, Yuuri wanted nothing more than to prove his worth as a student. To have Victor's decision to coach him riding on a stronger foundation than an inexplicable change of heart. And for that, he needed to prove he could provide what the Goddess designated him for. He needed the sacred dances.

At first he suspected that Victor still taught Yuri in secret, but the boy seemed just as agitated with his sudden change in attitude, carefree and flighty as though his retirement already began. Yuuri didn’t want to ruin Victor’s mood— especially after it had only just improved— but they needed to discuss it eventually and now seemed as good a time as any.

“Something on your mind?”

“Hm?” Yuuri glanced up, still slouched against the rink partition, eyes glazed over.

Bright aqua blue blinked back at him curiously.

“V— Victor!” He snapped upright, back straight as a board.

“Tired?”

“No!” Yuuri gave a nervous laugh. “Not at all!”

“Good!” Victor grinned. “I was thinking we could go over some jumps today! You haven’t mastered a few of them, right, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s expression fell. “No.” He chewed his bottom lip. “Maybe if I had something substantial to practice them with?”

Victor’s lip curled under, one foot tapping repeatedly at the ice— a habit Yuuri noticed he exhibited when in deep thought. “You can use one of the protection rituals we went over yesterday,” he concluded, eyes lighting up again. “Then,” His gaze brightened. “If we finish early, maybe you'd like to go sledding?”

Yuuri swallowed hard. “Victor…”

“Hm?” Victor blinked at him, doe eyed and hopeful.

He drew in a deep breath and held it, eyes closed. Far be it from him to tell Victor how to coach, but he had to say something... “It’s been a week,” he forced out. “Don’t you think it’s time we started actually…” He shuffled his feet nervously. “Training for the shrine?”

Victor’s eyes rounded. “Haven’t we been?”

Yuuri squirmed, the discomfort a palpable sticky thing in his gut. “S— Sort of, but—”

“Pork Cutlet Bowl is right.”

They turned to see Yuri gliding their way in a black, sleeveless hoodie. He came to a full stop just before them, hands on his hips. “For once.” He spared Yuuri a quick scowl before turning on Victor. “I’m sick of this elementary shit! When are we gonna get back to the real thing?”

“The basics are important.” Victor's smile strained. “It’s good to revisit them once in a while.”

"Yeah, yeah." Yuri scoffed. “I don’t need a review.” He turned accusing eyes on Yuuri, mouth twisted into a snarl. “Don’t lower the difficulty just because some of us are remedial!”

Yuri blatantly designed the words to bruise, but Yuuri nodded in agreement.

“He’s right,” he said. “I can’t use my magic, but I can learn the dances just fine.”

Victor didn't reply, his gaze drifting toward the ice, fingers cradling his chin. Yuuri’s chest tightened.

“You promised to teach me,” he managed and Victor’s eyes leapt to meet his. “I know I can pull them off just as well as the Dance of Might or any of the other rituals we’ve done.” He moved forward into Victor's space with eyes alight . “Let me show you.”

The breath seemed to catch in Victor's throat, his eyes widening, and Yuuri feared he'd pressed too much. "I- I know you said I was strong," he started in a softer tone, wringing his fingers together. "But don't you want to see it, Victor?”

Victor stared at him and Yuuri almost saw the gears at work. Slowly, his features transformed, ice melting, cheeks flushing. “I do,” he breathed softly, gripping Yuuri’s trembling fingers to still them. “I want to see it.”

A blend of a laugh and a sigh escaped Yuuri's lips.

“And I did promise.” Victor added, thumbs leaving languid trails over Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri became hyperaware of the contact, each trace leaving humming electric streaks on the skin.  
  
“Um…”

Yuri's eyes darted between them, growing more and more agitated with each transfer. “Well, what the hell are you waiting for?!”

“Alright,” Victor chuckled, his hands slipping from Yuuri’s in a painstakingly slow glide. “Let’s meet back here in fifteen minutes!” He winked. “Make sure you’re ready.”

“I will be!” Both students responded in unison. Yuri muttered a string of insults under his breath as he jetted off.

Yuuri simply shrugged, a manic grin stretching over his lips. He’d always been ready. From the moment he first saw Victor take the ice before a roaring crowd to the night he watched Celestino’s recording in stunned silence, huddled in secret beneath the sheets. He slated his entire dancing career on being ready when the Goddess’s light shined on him. Now, at dead center, he would prove it.

 

* * *

 

They stood at the heart of the ice. Victor sized them up while Yuri donned an impatient scowl and Yuuri folded his hands, determined not to appear just as impatient. Mila and Phichit watched curiously from the sidelines while Georgi watched his phone, fingers pounding on the touchscreen, likely another argument with Anya.

“Go Katsuki!” Phichit howled and Yuuri blushed.

“Woo!” Mila joined in. “Katsuki!”

“HUH?!” Yuri growled at his head guard.

“Turn around!” she teased. “You might miss something!”

“Yuuri,” Victor called. “Yurio.”

Both snapped up to face him.

“When you lend your magic and strength to the Goddess, where do you think it comes from? What do you think powers it?”

Yuri groaned, eyes rolling. “I can’t believe I have to go over this again.”

“Hm.” Yuuri folded his arms, roving over countless dance rituals he’d performed over the years, searching for a common thread. A good dancer needed practice, tenacity and a deep respect for the Goddess. All of that amounted to… “Dedication?” 

“And where does that come from?” Victor returned.

Yuuri frowned. What lay beneath his dedication to the Goddess? A memory surfaced, of watching teenage Victor gliding over the ice for the first time, Yuko’s hand squeezing his as they cheered loudly in one moment and gaped the next, breath bated. Though the memory warmed his heart, he returned to the present empty handed. He couldn’t very well respond with ‘Victor’, could he?

“When I challenged you at the outdoor rink, I gave you an impossible task. Or so I thought."

Yuuri bristled.

“I was cold to you." Victor's features went somber. "How did it make you feel?”

A new memory emerged, clawing up through him and prickling the hairs on his skin. So Victor suspected he would fail the challenge from the start. A grimace twisted his lips, his fists clenched. He’d felt much of what he felt now… Rage. “Upset,” he put it lightly, fighting the urge to ask why. “Angry,” he added honestly.

Victor nodded. “And how did that manifest in your performance?”

Yuuri's fists loosened. Oh. “Emotion.”

“Exactly!” Victor pointed at him. “Emotions strengthen us, not just our physical ability, but our power and magic as well.”

Yuuri recalled more of that day, the roaring, chaotic surge of power that swelled within as his frustrations grew, the wind whipping violently throughout the field.

“You were able to summon that much power because of how you felt,” Victor concluded. “Now imagine what you could accomplish if you used a dance specifically designed to draw on your anger,” he said. “These are the sacred dances used at the shrine to harness a Primaja’s magic for the Goddess, the ultimate combination. No dancer is more powerful than a Primaja and no dance is more powerful than these. The Goddess created the sacred dances to share with her chosen alone." He winked. "That's why they're forbidden to all other dancers.”

Yuuri bit his lip, a sweat breaking on his brow. So the Goddess created the dance he’d performed— illegally— at the Ice Castle with a specific emotion in mind. He hadn’t even known, hadn’t tried to match it and still, his awakening exploded Hasetsu that night. What a powerful ritual…

A dreadful thought crept up and burrowed its way into his thoughts. The capitol banned average dancers from performing sacred dances, but what happened if they did? Did they lose their gift? Incur the Goddess’s wrath?

Experience false awakenings?

No. He shook his head, heart racing. The Goddess wouldn’t summon him without meaning it. And he couldn’t be the first to attempt a sacred dance illegally. Scores of past dancers must have tried and he’d never heard of a false awakening…

 _This is real_. His vision blurred as he stared pointedly at the ice. _The Goddess chose me._

“Yuuri,” Victor called in a dulcet tone. “Are you listening?”

"Um..." Yuuri flinched. “Yes!” he answered too loudly and Yuri snorted from his side.

“The six dances represent the most raw of our emotions,” Victor explained. “There’s Lupe.” He took the starting pose of the dance and Yuuri recognized it immediately. One arm stretched to the ceiling, sad eyes staring after it in yearning. The dance from the recording. “Sorrow, feelings of immense sadness or longing.”

Victor switched his posture to shrink in to himself, fists clenched overhead. “Phobos. Intense fear and confusion,” he said. “Orge.” He suddenly lashed out to his right, one arm extended, fingers curled, the other stretched behind him, features intense. “Burning rage.” He relaxed and smiled at Yuuri. “This is Yurio’s favorite.”

Yuri nodded to himself with a smug grin, arms folded.

“It’s too bad that the rest of his performances suffer for it.”

“SHUT UP!”

“Eros.” Victor rolled back his shoulders, his hip cocked to the side, eyes sultry. “Passion, eroticism, romance.” His form softened, arms angling behind him as he faced the ground, expression humble. “Agape. Innocent, selfless love."

He dropped the pose. "And perhaps the most difficult of them all.” He pulled his arms forward and upward, hands together, palms open as though cupping something as he faced the ceiling. “Chara. Profound happiness and enlightenment. These are the only dances powerful enough to keep the Fire God’s power under control. When the Goddess calls you, you’ll perform them at the shrine.”

Goosebumps prickled over Yuuri's skin, cool slivers running down his back.

“This is why we must learn every facet of our personality for the Goddess. What makes us feel weak, strong, happy, frustrated, sad, passionate and so on. Find all of these and you won’t fail her.”

 _Is that why you were so cruel to me, Victor? So that I would experience these emotions?_ He shook the thought away. It didn't matter now. He wondered instead which dances would be best to start with. Agape seemed well suited for him and he’d experienced enough Phobos in the last two months to design a program around the dance. 

“Yeah, whatever, old man.” Yurio gave a dramatic yawn. “Just teach me my next dance.”

“Hm?” Victor raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said Orge was all you needed, Yurio. You never want to practice anything else.”

Yuri shrugged. “I saw another one I might like, okay?!”

“Fine.” Victor grinned. “Let’s focus on two then. I’ll teach each of you a different dance. Let's go with..." He tapped his foot against the ice for seconds on end. Then his features flooded with light and he snapped his fingers. "Eros and Agape!”

“Cool.” Yuri nodded, a determined grin curving over his lips. Yuuri sighed, secretly glad that Victor chose a more relatable dance for his first.

“You get Eros!” Victor pointed at Yuuri. “And you get Agape!” The finger landed on Yuri.

“WHAT?!” they both cried.

Eros. The sultry smirk. The fluid hips. He’d need at least five drinks to get the posture right!

“V— Victor!” he protested. “I know you saw Phichit’s vlogs,” He shot an accusing glare at his best friend. “But I’m not really like that sober!” He laughed, more high-pitched than he meant. “Maybe we should put Eros aside for now and focus on something more suited to my personality and more age appropriate for Yurio—”

Age appropriate?!” Yuri scoffed, rounding on him. “I’m not a baby! I have more Eros in my pinky than you’ve ever had in your entire, pathetic life, pig!” He spun around to face Victor. “I want Eros!”

Victor considered him with a tilted head, his index finger tapping at his lips. “Why the sudden interest in Eros, Yurio? Are you and Otabek that far along in your relationship?” He smiled, eyebrow raised. “What would your grandpa think?”

Yurio’s snarling mouth fell into a large gape, his cheeks flushing. “HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!”

Mila cackled from the partition. “Is this about Yuuri kicking your ass in that dance battle?”

“SHUT UP, WITCH!”

Victor’s eyes darted between the two of them and he laughed, the sound carrying over the entire rink. “Do you two honestly think you can dance for the Goddess and stay in your comfort zones? That she wants a half-baked Primaja?”

Both students froze as though pierced through the heart.

“Sometimes the best emotional reaction comes when you surprise yourself." Victor crossed his arms. “You won’t get anywhere playing it safe.”

Yuuri nodded, but his limbs swayed with the flimsy consistency of jelly. Victor always took risks and creative liberties. He wouldn’t be one of the most celebrated Primaja of all time without them. But of all the dances he could have chosen for his first… Eros. Romance and sexuality. What did he know about any of that?! He secretly berated his drunk self for writing checks that sober Yuuri most certainly couldn’t cash.

“Want me to grab the champagne, Yuuri?!” Phichit read his mind and he and Mila exploded into a fit of laughter. Yuuri groaned, nearly nostalgic for the days he watched practice from the snow, freezing and desperate. Nearly.

Victor’s demonstrations of the two dances did little to ease his anxiety. As expected, sacred dances made equals of potency and difficulty. They required more footwork, speed, spins and jumps than any average routine— all complicated by their adaptation for the ice. Still, Yuuri knew that with practice, he could master the technical aspects. The ‘Eros’ part on the other hand…

Victor skated both dances perfectly, an angel drifting over the ice with the gentle ease of a feather for Agape and an alluring siren for Eros, tempting them so with every sultry smolder and curve of his hips that Yuuri nearly tumbled forward from leaning so far over the divider.

“You alright, Yuuri?” Victor kept eye contact after he finished the routine, flashing a self satisfied grin as he neared the partition

“F— Fine,” Yuuri stammered, righting himself and running nervous fingers through his bangs.

“So what’d you think?” Victor leaned forward onto the ledge, enveloping Yuuri in a cloud of flowers and musk. “I’m a little rusty. I haven’t skated Eros in a while.”

Yuuri nearly scoffed. "Rusty?" Victor’s Eros was rusty as the stars were dim, as the snow, lukewarm. “That was amazing!” he gushed. “It reminds me of another dance you used to do. At shows.”

“Oh!” Victor nodded. “I choreographed a public show based on Eros when I was 16. It was pretty popular at the time!”

That didn’t sound right. He recalled a more lithe version of Victor sailing over the ice in thin black mesh, eyes just as captivating. Yuuri had been 13 at the time. “17,” he concluded. “You were about 17 then.”

“Huh.” Victor leaned further onto the partition, chin in hand. “I guess you’re right.”

Yuuri grimaced. Why had he said that? Did Victor think he was creepy for knowing exactly how old he'd been when he skated a sexy routine as a teenager?

“I— I just remember because it was my favorite at the time!” Yuuri blurted, desperate to give an explanation. “I used to watch it every night before bed!”

Victor’s lips curved into an intrigued grin, eyes twinkling. “Did you?”

“Eh… um!” Heat flared in his cheeks. “N— Not because... I mean the artistry-!”

“Hey!” Yuri saved him. “What are you talking about over there?! You’re supposed to be teaching me!”

“First!” Victor started, turning to smile at him. “I want you to take time and consider what Agape and Eros mean to you both. For any emotion, it’s important to have a muse.” He winked at Yuuri. “I hope you won’t have to think too hard?”

* * *

 

Finding Eros proved to exceed ‘hard’, landing somewhere around impossible.

“Phichit,” he sighed later that night, warm water rising up to cradle his head as he floated across the surface of the water. “I still can’t think of anything.”

Even here in the peaceful luxury of the indoor palace pools, where the rushing faux waterfalls and multilayered stone ponds reminded him of the onsen back home, ‘Eros’ still escaped him. His muse, or lack thereof, occupied every thought since leaving the rink. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even eat.

“Well…” Phichit frowned as he floated past him, padding himself backward in gentle strokes. “What about Yuko back home? Didn’t you have a thing for her?”

Yuuri frowned. “Yeah, but not like this.” Phrases like ‘puppy love’ and ‘crush’ sprang to mind when he thought of Yuko. Certainly not ‘passion’ and ‘sexuality’. He couldn’t think of her like that! And she was married! Oh Goddess!

“Yuuri, you’re so red!”

Chris chuckled lowly as he drifted toward them on a blue float. He wore shades and deep purple swim speedos, a tall drink with a creamy hue and a maraschino cherry in the cup holder. “Eros isn’t something you think of. It has to be felt,” he said in a shuddering voice. “Deeply.”

Phichit exploded into a fit of laughter and Yuuri blanched despite the heated pool. Before he could wrap his mind further around Chris’s words, a clap sounded from just above his head and water splattered everywhere, successfully dousing him. He went under briefly and when he resurfaced, a striped beach ball floated innocently off to the perimeter. Yuri towered over them in orange and black swim trunks with Otabek at his side.

“Stop bitching, pig!” Yuri sat at the edge, spooning the beach ball back into his arms. “At least he’s teaching you Eros!” He grumbled into the ball, squeezing at it so roughly that Yuuri feared it would burst in one loud ‘pop’. “I got the shittiest dance ever…”

Yuuri frowned at Yuri's casual blasphemy. “I’m sure Agape is just as effective, Yurio.”

“Did I ask you?!” Yuri blared and he decided it best not to engage the teen any longer. Instead he drifted backward, facing the ceiling where the painted likeness of an open, blue sky and wispy clouds hovered overhead.

“Eros…” he whispered. “What is Eros to me?”

“What about those two sisters we met on Pilgrimage that one time in the Southlands?” Phichit asked. “You got along really well with the older one.”  
Yuuri thought back to the soft voiced girl with shoulder length dirty blonde hair. She smelled of cinnamon and always covered her mouth when she laughed. They’d spent all night talking. About Victor’s latest skate and their favorite dishes. He tried to think of her in that way. Nothing. He couldn’t even remember her figure.

“We were watching some skating clips of Victor,” he muttered, explaining the interaction. “And we shared recipes.”

Phichit’s lips tugged downward. “Well, what about that one guy from Amicia? With the glasses and the dreadlocks? He was super into you.”

“He was?” Yuuri frowned, remembering the pleasant young man he shared Victor collectibles with, gushing every time they found a new poster in a shop along the way or caught a performance on a hostel television. He liked sweet potato based dishes just as much as Yuuri and they tried a few together. But Yuuri had only been interested in his poster collection. “We were just into the same stuff…”

“The same stuff, huh?” Phichit smirked.

“What about whoever you masturbated to last night?” Chris asked casually and Yuuri’s shoulders jerked, nearly taking him under.

“Chris!” he scolded, his cheeks reddening. “Who has time for that?!”

“Yuuri,” Chris sat up, raising his shades to reveal concerned green eyes as though he’d just learned Yuuri was diagnosed with a life threatening disease. “There’s always time for that.”

Phichit shrieked with laughter. “Come on, Chris!” he pleaded. “This is a public pool!” His eyes flitted to Yuri and Otabek and Yuri began fuming.

“We’re 15 and 17!” he said, the beach ball bursting with a resounding ‘POP’. "We're not fucking babies!"

“Yeah.” Chris smirked. “You use big boy words and everything.” He eyed Yuuri with a knowing look and Yuri glared between the two, plainly conflicted over whether they mocked him or not.

“Yuuri,” Phichit closed the space between them, his deep black hair drenched and dripping around his eyes. “Are you sure there’s not a common thread in these stories?” he asked slowly, accentuating each word. “Think about it. Eros!” He spread his palms dramatically. “Something that you’ve loved for years. Something you’ve never stopped wanting. Something you may have been obsessed with to the point of infatuation?”

Yuuri's brow furrowed.

“Something that makes you lose your words? Your thoughts?” Phichit went on, voice almost pleading, hands twirling about one another in a rolling motion. “Something you can’t stop talking about after drinking?”

His stomach growled and his eyes lit up in epiphany.

“Oh!” he cried and Phichit grinned.

“I got it!” he announced with a clenched fist. “Food!”

Phichit’s smile deflated.

“Um…” Yuuri frowned. Too far off? Oh! He snapped his fingers. “Pork Cutlet Bowls!”

He knew it was a mistake the moment he said it. Phichit gaped at him while Chris sniggered in the background. Yuri began howling, nearly rocking himself forward into the water. Otabek stared downward, unable to meet his gaze.

“Wow, Yuuri." Phichit sighed.

“Pork Cutlet Bowls again?!” Yuri wheezed, nearly out of breath as he clutched the edge of the pool. “That’s too good! I can’t wait to see Victor’s face!”

Yuuri whimpered as he let himself slip away, submerging completely into the water so that Yuri’s howling distorted and Phichit’s disappointed expression became a mere undulating ripple above.

What he loved. Wanted. His infatuation. His obsession. The thing that stole the words from his lips while inspiring them in volumes.

The Pork Cutlet Bowl.

He groaned, bubbles funneling from his nostrils and streaming to the surface.

He wondered what Victor would think of that.


	13. The Date

Eros remained absent the next day despite several creative attempts to lure it in. After his humiliation at the pool, Yuuri returned to his room determined to realize Eros at any cost. By sunrise. Five self help articles, ten questionable websites and a drink or two later, he'd gained nothing but a headache. He worried himself into a restless slumber and cursed when the sun peaked to remind him of his failure. Grumbling, he dragged himself out of bed and down to the first floor gym to meet Phichit. He didn't bother greeting the other patrons, mostly dancers and military personnel, as he made his way across the black rubber floors, the smell of sweat filling his nostrils.

“Still can’t find your Eros, huh?” Phichit asked at the mere sight of his wrinkled, black fitness tee, disheveled hair over weary eyes. 

“You look very Eros to me, Katsuki!” Michele gave him a solemn salute and his mood brightened a fraction at the omission of 'sir'.

“Thanks Mickey.”

Phichit's lips turned up into a sympathetic grin. “The Pork Cutlet Bowl thing not working out?”

Yuuri winced as he pulled a couple of weights from the stand to his left.

“I’m kidding!” Phichit squeezed at his shoulder. “You’ll get it! Did you try Chris’s advice?”

“You’re funny today...” Yuuri grunted, settling down on a weight bench.

“Thanks,” Phichit teased and took the spot beside him, leaning in and snapping a quick selfie before Yuuri could protest. “But it’ll come to you, Yuuri.” He nudged him. “Guess who I ran into on my way over?” He winked and somehow Yuuri knew the answer.

“He said he hoped you were getting a lot out of our praise dances everyday."

He gulped.

“And that it was too bad they keep you so busy," Phichit went on. “He seemed pretty upset when I had no idea what he was talking about.”

Letting the weights tip to the floor, Yuuri slumped forward, head in his hands. He couldn't find Eros and now Victor knew he'd been blowing him off. He should have warned Phichit... 

“It’s cool, Yuuri. I get it.” Phichit leaned down to level with him.“You’re still upset about how he treated you.”

“That’s not it.”

Phichit's eyes narrowed. “Then…”

“I mean, he never told me why…” Yuuri clutched the edge of the bench. “What if I say something to make him change his mind again? Before he can teach me anything else?”

Phichit frowned. “He could change his mind whether you spend time with him or not.”

Yuuri agreed, logically, but a far more powerful voice in his head told him there was reset button just waiting to activate the moment he made the most trivial mistake. The moment Victor deemed him unworthy.

“Victor was wrong…” Phichit started, approaching the words hesitantly, his hands folded tight. “But…” He bit his lip. “Have you considered that maybe he had a good reason?”

A chill settled over Yuuri. Phichit usually condemned Victor’s behavior with more disdain than he did. What had changed? 

“N— No, Yuuri!” Phichit waved his hands in alarm. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know you’re amazing. It’s just…” He glanced off to the side. “Maybe you should talk to him. Have you considered that maybe he’s trying? Maybe that’s why he keeps inviting you out.”

“Maybe.” Yuuri squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

Phichit winked. “It might even help with your Eros!”

Victor? Help with his Eros? The twinkle in Phichit's eye suggested something more and Yuuri flushed. “D— Don’t joke about that!” Victor was his idol, his coach and, what’s more, Primaja. Yuuri couldn’t think of him that way… He wouldn’t!

Phichit doubled over laughing. “Come on! You’ve never thought about it?”

“N—” Yuuri started to lie when Michele’s voice blared across the gym.

“SARA?!” he roared, violet eyes wide and enraged. Yuuri followed his gaze to a screen mounted against the wall before the treadmills. A blond reporter in thick, red rimmed glasses dictated a news report, four photos superimposed to her left. Yuuri’s stomach soured, suddenly weak. He recognized each one.

“Soldiers captured a member of a rebel group believed to be working under Jean-Jacques Leroy after a chase that lasted almost two weeks. Three other blasphemers have been identified and are all wanted for treason against the Goddess and the capitol.”

“LIES!” Michele boomed, a sea of concerned faces staring back at him. “DON’T THEY FACT CHECK ANYTHING ANYMORE?!”

Yuuri's eyes fixed stubbornly to the screen, his breathing increasing rapidly as the reporter read the names aloud.

“Emil Nekola, a Southland born non-elemental is currently being held in custody at an undisclosed location.”

Buzzing static swarmed his head, Michele’s distressed shouts fading beneath it. How did they find them? Why did it happen so soon after his run in with them?

_After a chase that lasted almost two weeks…_

Guilt surged through him at the memory of Emil’s toothy grin, eyes bright and open— so different from the mugshot scowling from the television. Would they hurt him? He was only a Non-E. They could kill him. Was it Yuuri’s fault somehow? He hadn’t told anyone… He hadn’t!

“Yuuri?” A voice pierced through the swarm and he blinked up to see Phichit leaning over him. “Are you alright?”

“Y— Yeah, I’m fine,” he stammered, cradling himself.

“We should probably head out.” Phichit said, thick brows furrowing as a raging Michele punched at the support pads lining the walls.

“Not true!” Yuuri made out between nonsensical rambling. “A conspiracy!”

“Mickey…” Phichit approached him as he would an animal in the wild.

“A damn shame.” A palace guard with a buzzcut and a goatee cursed to his friend from a treadmill. “That chick is too hot to be in prison.”

Michele turned slowly, pure hell in his eyes. “What did you say?” he growled.

With that, Yuuri resolved to address his own troubling thoughts later, opting instead to join Phichit in his feat to drag Michele from the gym, unharmed and without a criminal record. The capitol certainly didn’t need two wanted Crispinos.

Besides, he needed to mentally prepare himself for practice. If his gleeful response to Yuuri's muse meant anything, Yuri Plisetsky was going to have a field day.

* * *

 

“A pork cutlet bowl?”

The blend of confusion and disappointment in Victor’s features made Yuuri want to stick his head into the glistening snow of the newly renovated rink and refuse to come out. He tried to defend himself instead.

“I— I wasn’t serious!” he cried, adjusting the thick, green scarf around his neck. “It was just—”

“You said it!” Yuri, who had just gleefully volunteered this information, turned on him with accusing eyes. He snorted. “Clear as fucking day, you said—!”

“Yurio?” Victor asked with an inquisitive grin. “Did you find your muse for Agape?”

Yuri seized up, the blank practically drawing itself on his features.

“Oh no.” Victor’s lips tugged downward. “ You were so busy worrying about Yuuri’s assignment that you completely neglected your own.”

The skin beneath Yuri’s eye twitched and Victor smiled again, head cocked. “I think the temple?”

“WHAT?!”

While Yuri spent his morning with the warning stick, Yuuri tried desperately to explain that the ‘pork cutlet bowl’ remark had simply been an offhand comment, something he’d blurted without thinking.

“I see, I see,” Victor laughed at him and Yuuri scanned the white ground as though it were the most interesting thing, cheeks red.

“So what is your muse then?”

“Um…” Yuuri's eyes burned holes into the snow.

“Hm.” Victor’s smile wilted, but the positive cadence remained. “Let’s go with the pork cutlet bowl for now then!”

“Okay.” Yuuri muttered, certain that he’d just won the most deserved award for ‘Dumbest Eros Muse’ in Primaja history.

“Hey,” A familiar spark appeared in Victor’s eyes. “I have an idea!”

Yuuri tensed.

“Why don’t we take the rest of the evening to go to dinner?” He moved forward, eyes large. “I have an idea that might help with your inspiration!”

“Eh…” Yuuri drew a blank. How would dinner help with his inspiration? With his luck, he’d just say something off-putting and then Victor would change his mind. "I dunno..."

“I see.” Victor pulled back, the smile shrinking and tightening on his lips. He eased down onto a bench and began adjusting his skates. “Praise dancing again?”

Yuuri felt a twinge of guilt.

_It might help with your Eros._

Phichit could be right. Provided Victor’s ‘idea’ wasn’t just a ruse to get him to accept an invitation for once, perhaps he could find his true Eros. And he _was_ hungry… “Well… no...” But how could he concentrate on Eros with Emil's capture on his mind? And the palace dining area would be open... Best to go back to his chambers where it was safe, quiet and Victorless. “On second thought—”

“Good!” The shine in Victor's eyes sparked again. “Then you’ll come! I’ll cover everything!”

Yuuri shook his head rapidly. “Y— You don’t have to—”

“Please?” Victor drew nearer, catching his hands so that the hum pressed through, taking the words from Yuuri’s lips. “I insist.”

He blinked into Victor’s pleading blue eyes and his protests drowned in them. “… Okay.”

“Yay!” Victor gushed in a very unPrimaja-esque manner, his smile growing wide across his jaw, eyes gleaming. "The Crystal Garden then?"

Yuuri replied with nervous laughter, his heart thudding recklessly. "The Crystal Garden?"

* * *

 The Crystal Garden was an opulent labyrinth of crimson and gold with a maze of small dining chambers within and well sculpted gardens of snow and ice outside the towering glass windows. The well-to-do tittered about, an incoherent hum in the background. Colorful lanterns glowed above them and the dazzling, young waitstaff wore short robes of black and white silken embroidery. Victor and Yuuri sat in a cozy, private room upon cushy pillows with golden tassels watching the lanterns possess their shadows to dance on the paneled walls. A garden of sculptures, designed to shape and form the sheets of snow into artful bridges, benches and ancient flowers unfurled just outside the window. Spicy, mouthwatering aromas drifted from the kitchen and found them, enveloping Yuuri’s senses in familiarity and nostalgia. The sights and smells of the Eastlands.

“Thanks for coming out with me.” Victor leaned his chin onto the backs of his hands, elbows poised on the short table that separated them. “I know you’re usually so busy.”

Yuuri cleared his throat.

“Do you like it, Yuuri?” Victor asked, the loose, green cotton of his oversized sweater drifting from his shoulder. Yuuri promptly averted his gaze and pulled his own blue button-up over his chest.

“It’s supposed to be completely authentic,” Victor went on. “I thought it’d make you less homesick. And they have the pork cutlet bowl!” He bounced with the same excitement he had when Yuuri agreed to his invitation. “That’s the key to your Eros, right?”

Yuuri wilted. That was his ‘idea’? Was he making fun of him?

“I hope you don’t mind if I try it before we go to Hasetsu.” Victor continued, unaware of Yuuri’s inner turmoil. His gaze lowered to his own fingers where he twirled incessantly at a long lock of silver. “You’ll still take me, won’t you?”

“O— Of course!” Yuuri stammered. So much of the morning after the ball remained a blur. He’d nearly forgotten that particular promise. “But Victor…” He gave the immaculate room another once over. “You really didn’t have to do this… This place is really…” He paused, searching for the word.

“Romantic?” Victor finished in a singsong voice. “I guess it’s kind of like a date!” He clasped his hands over his cheeks.

“I— I wasn’t going to say that!” Yuuri waved his hands in protest, his face practically another lantern in the room. His fingers began to quiver and he picked his napkin up to busy them, spreading it out. Why did Victor have this effect on him? He was only joking. He probably joked like this with everyone.

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Victor shrugged. “I’ve never actually been on one.”

Yuuri nearly dropped the napkin. “You haven’t?” Victor Nikiforov? The Eros expert?

“I’m sure you have, right Yuuri?”

“Um…” He smoothed the napkin over his knees with more force than necessary. “Not really. Besides pretend dates with Yuko when we were kids…” He chuckled fondly at the memories of his 9-year-old self, painstakingly preparing entire tea sets, complete with his mother’s rice cakes, for his childhood crush and best friend. She always humored him with soft, adoring smiles and she’d end every date with a chaste kiss upon his chubby cheek.

Victor cradled his chin in his hand, interest piqued. “Whose Yuko?”

  
“A childhood friend,” Yuuri explained. “We grew up together. She’s Non-E, but she would dance and skate with me for fun.”

“Oh.” Victor’s gaze lowered to the tabletop. “Is she coming to stay with you then?”

“Hm?” Yuuri blinked. “Oh no! It’s not like that!” He laughed. “She’s married with three daughters! They have tons of energy so she might not even be able to visit for a while.”

Victor smiled again. “I see.” He continued to watch Yuuri intently, scrutinizing him, blue eyes burning holes into his skull until he could barely take it. He considered fabricating some emergency and excusing himself when Victor’s lips folded under.

“You don’t like it.”

“No!” Yuuri cried. “I do! But…” He folded his hands and massaged them together. “Shouldn’t I be practicing my Eros? I mean,” The question bubbled in his throat until he couldn't bare to contain it any longer. “Don’t you need to be sure?” He glanced up. “About coaching me?”

The last of Victor’s grin crumbled on his lips. He eyed Yuuri as though he were something shattered and he hadn’t the slightest clue of how to piece him back together. He sighed. “You never had to prove yourself to me, Yuuri.”

 _Then why were you so cruel to me?_ Perhaps Phichit had been right. He was still upset. How could he stay on Victor's good side when he didn’t even know how he’d ended up on his bad side in the first place? He needed an explanation.

“I just…” he started, his mouth going dry. “I don’t understand.”

The paneled door at the head of the cozy chamber slid open and a young woman’s bunned head popped in, her grin spanning ear to ear. “Are you gentlemen ready for an appetizer?”

“Oh!” Victor immediately tackled one of the two thin, glass plated menus from the table. “What should we get, Yuuri?!” he asked excitedly, his face a mere inch away from the book. “Maybe we can get two! I’m always so hungry when I come back!”

Yuuri peeked over his own menu.  “Where’d you go anyway?”

“Oh, look!” Victor spun the menu around so that Yuuri could see. “They have sweet potato tempura! You want to try it, right?”

Goosebumps popped up over Yuuri's skin. Sweet potato tempura was a favorite appetizer of his. He enjoyed sampling it from town to town as they always seemed to taste different from each greenhouse. But he’d never told Victor this.

“What makes you think that?” he asked with feigned nonchalance, taking a sip of his water.

“Hm?” Victor blinked, wide and innocent. “I saw it in one of Phichit's vlogs.”

Yuuri nearly choked on the liquid before slamming the glass back on the table. “How many of those did you watch?!”

Victor winked. “Enough to know what you like!” He turned to the waitress. “We’ll take the sweet potato tempura and an order of wine cakes!”

The woman nodded promptly, eyes flitting curiously between the two of them before spinning on her polished black heels and exiting the room.

The drunken chants of ‘Be my coach, Victor!’ filled Yuuri’s mind again and he very much wanted to disappear. There must have been something in those vlogs then, something off, that made Victor upset with him initially… Had he come off as an unhinged fan? Had he insulted the fire folk in some way? Victor was so protective of Chris… His eyes widened. Goddess knew he already felt wary of firestarters sober. Who knows what he might have said while inebriated…

“I’m…” he started carefully, adjusting his position on the carpet. “I’m sorry if I said anything in the vlogs that offended you.”

Victor chuckled, almost a giggle, his shoulder’s bouncing. “You said a lot of things in the vlogs.”

Yuuri’s face burned hot, his throat closing in. “I see…” So it was true. “You must have thought I was… thought I was…”

“I liked watching you,” Victor said. Yuuri’s head jerked up.

“I thought you were funny.” The Primaja leaned forward, silver wisps falling into his eyes.

Yuuri cringed.

“And talented and interesting,” Victor added, sparing a soft grin at Yuuri whose features warmed rapidly. “You put your heart into everything. And not just when you were drinking.” His eyes shined as he peered out of the window where white blanketed peacefully over the stone garden, glistening from each mound. “You danced like flakes in the wind, like you were made for it, Yuuri.”

Yuuri swallowed deep, his hand pressing over his chest as though it could calm his heartbeat.

“It reminded me of when I first started. And what I loved about it.” His gaze shifted back to Yuuri, pale eyes piercing as they settled on him. “I wanted to meet you.”

Now cherry red, Yuuri cleared his throat, dry and tight under Victor’s watchful, almost admiring, gaze. Victor was interested in him? Inspired by him? Victor wanted to meet him? But that couldn’t be right. “But…” he started, his voice shakier than he would have liked. “You acted like you wanted me gone.”

The light slowly drained from Victor’s eyes, his lips turning downward. He said nothing. _Because he still does_ , Yuuri realized. _He still wants you gone._

Victor scanned the room, from the napkin he fidgeted with to the grooves in the wood lacquer to reflection of the lantern light in the glass window, seeking. For an excuse, Yuuri realized.

"Please be honest with me," Yuuri said, luring Victor's gaze in with his own pleading eyes.

 

Victor tensed, the guarded facade crumbling at the request. He weaved his fingers together and glanced around with unsettled eyes as if watching for something, someone, at the silent garden, at the shadows moving past the paneled door. Finally, he turned back to Yuuri with a sigh. “I did want you to leave the capitol…”

Yuuri leaned in unconsciously, ears ringing, heart in his throat.

“But not because I was angry at you or doubted you.” He shook his head and Yuuri almost gasped to see his fingers trembling, the image of the ever composed Victor Nikiforov evaporating before his eyes. “Yuuri,” he pressed and it sounded labored. “This isn’t what you—”

“Everything alright in here?” The paneled door sailed open and Yuuri nearly flinched to see the waitress staring down at them. He hadn’t heard her coming. Had she been standing outside the entire time?

“Everything’s fine.” Victor nodded with a grin and Yuuri sat baffled once again over his ability to mood shift in a matter of seconds.

The woman stared at them for a bit before finally nodding and closing the door again, but the apprehension still remained, the sensation of being watched.

Victor gave a loud sigh, his expression mellowing. He leaned across the table and grasped his hands, their energies linking like magnets, the soothing hum settling over Yuuri’s nerves and subduing them. “I can't tell you now. But soon. I promise.” His eyes softened into pools, a weak smile on his lips. “But please don’t blame yourself, Yuuri. It had nothing to do with you.”

“Hm.” Yuuri bit his lip, still uneasy between the half confession and the interruption.

“I swear on the Goddess…”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, blinking twice and then three times to confirm that those words had truly left the Primaja’s lips.

“… I’ll never hurt you like that again.” Victor pressed a small kiss against his knuckles before smiling up at him. “Or I’ll let Yurio use me for ice target practice.”

Yuuri couldn’t help the chuckle from escaping his throat, his resolve shrinking and shrinking until it vanished somewhere deep within him, the gentle energy connecting them and Victor’s mere presence dulling the rest out. He had no doubt that his fears would return to chide him later, in the middle of the night or during his morning shower, but for now, at least, they gave him peace.

“Okay.” Yuuri nodded, face warm, fingers unconsciously pressing and kneading against Victor’s and Victor squeezing back in turn, sealing the promise.

  
“Will you tell me more about your pilgrimages, Yuuri?” Victor pulled away and Yuuri missed the contact immediately. “Which was your favorite? What kind of dances did you do? Did you have any lovers?”

“Eh…” Yuuri stammered, the barrage of questions throwing him off. Still he managed to acquiesce on at least two of them, detailing his journeys through the Southlands where Phichit hailed from, where people were less guarded than in the Eastlands, less business minded than Westlanders and certainly less pompous than Northlanders. Of Alpis where the mountains reached so high they surpassed the clouds and sent many a dancer home from injuries on the steep slopes. Of Espersia, where the most artistic of dancers gathered to erect a four story fairytale castle composed of ice and snow alone. He and Phichit had happily slid through with rampant enthusiasm, nearly tumbling from the lofty balconies. Of Fluctis in the Northlands with its auroras that billowed high above the camp where, lying on his back beneath the stars and shifting colors, he could feel his significance slipping into the dark to give way to all the majesty and splendor of the universe.

After the appetizers had come and they ordered their main entrees, two large pork cutlet bowls, he continued on, detailing different dances and their origins— from the formal praise dances to popular, but ineffective warmup routines to the just plain silly. Victor nodded, laughed and gasped in all the right places, hanging on to Yuuri’s every word with gleaming eyes and the uninhibited elation of a child.

Some part of Yuuri concluded that this was only a facade to humor him, but as he went on, his throat loosened, his shoulders relaxed, his words increased in volume, his movements exaggerated— likely thanks in no small part to the wine cakes. Still, Victor never showed offense, boredom or even indifference. He just listened on as though Yuuri were the only sound in the world and it only made him want to share more.

“Yuuri…” Victor began, absentmindedly toying with a breaded slice of potato on his saucer. “Did you ever find anything like in the old times? Like flower fields? With grass? Or ponds? Or…” He paused, gaze trailing upward. “What was it you asked me to make you? A rainbow!” He grinned, index finger shooting up.

Yuuri smiled. So Victor _had_ created the ice toys he kept on his windowsill… “No.” He shook his head, eyes following Victor’s drifting gaze. “I think they’re probably all gone.”

“Oh.” Victor’s eyes lowered to the table again and Yuuri wished he could give him a better response. “My grandmother used to tell me a place like that still existed. With flowers of all kinds and colors everywhere.” He smiled to himself. “I always wanted to find it.”

“Your grandmother?” Yuuri murmured, remembering the weathered picture of a young Victor and the old woman in the Primaja’s personal study. He blinked. “They don’t grow them in greenhouses? Not even here?”

“Not many.” Victor shrugged. “The seeds are hard to come by and they can’t survive outside so they’re mostly just grown for fragrances like lavender and jasmine. And they’re very expensive.”

Yuuri frowned. “That’s too bad.” Not that he’d ever admit it, but when he was younger, he’d scribbled doodles of Victor in his ice flower crowns. Only, rather than imbuing them in tones of white and blue as the ice appeared, he’d fill them in reds and yellows and purples. Actual roses and marigolds and lilacs. He thought the Primaja appeared so much more stunning that way, sterling tresses adorned in color. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to make his fanarts a reality.

“Maybe you could find it.” He smiled, attempting to picture a field that he’d only seen replicated in paintings and the words of talented authors. “Your grandmother’s garden.” His eyes flit to Victor, warm and bright. “And you can retire there.”

“I’ve always wanted to.” Victor beamed back at him. “Will you help me?”

  
“Y— Yeah, of course,” he said, hoping the wine cakes were enough excuse for his stutter. “Then maybe we can bring seeds back to the capitol.”

“And we can open our own conservatory!” Victor added cheerily and Yuuri grinned so harshly his jaw hurt.

He started to detail the venture, adding themed rooms and which flowers they’d grow, when he caught Victor's eyes and the words disintegrated on his lips.

“Victor?” He moved forward, hand outstretched. Victor’s features contorted, conflicted, almost pain stricken. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” The words came in a cool, robotic tone that silenced Yuuri in its familiarity, memories of the past month streaming back to him.

“Um…” He frowned, the discomfort returning, anxiety growing in his gut. “Okay?”

“You’ve done so many things, Yuuri,” Victor started again, the life spilling back into his voice. “I cant believe you haven't had any lovers!” He frowned. “No wonder you’re having trouble with Eros.”

Yuuri blanched and blushed within the span of a few seconds.

“H— Hey!” he cried, offended and accusing. “You haven’t either!”

“I said I haven't been on a date.” Victor smirked. “I never said anything about a lover.”

Yuuri went quiet, curiosity suddenly gnawing at his insides.

  
“Huh…” He chose his words carefully, not wanting to sound rude. “But they kind of go hand in hand, don’t they?”

Victor chuckled behind his fist and Yuuri felt like a child who hadn’t been let in on an adult secret.

“I guess I'm just not dating material!” Victor sighed, gaze drifting toward the window.

Yuuri looked at him as though he’d just called himself the worst dancer in the world. “But you’re… you,” he said for lack of a more fitting word. “You're amazing!”

“An amazing dancer you mean,” Victor corrected with a wink. “An amazing Primaja.”

“I like you!” Yuuri blurted with a three second delay before he’d realized what he said and all of the ways in which it could be interpreted. “I mean… I like who you are!” he corrected, a bit too loudly before lowering his tone, his fingers wringing anxiously in his lap. “Right now. As a person.”

Victor’s gaze rose to meet his, an urgent question lingering there. He seemed to answer it himself before smiling, the slightest blush on his cheeks.

“I like you too, Yuuri.”

However much Victor liked him, the pork cutlet bowls held the Primaja's undivided attention from the moment they arrived at the table, steaming with flavor, until he reached the bottom of his bowl. First he marveled at the contents of the bowl, at the aroma and inquired if the cutlet size was big enough for Yuuri. Then he began to eat, cherishing each bite, his shoulders swaying in a little dance the entire time. Finally, he mourned the loss of the bowl, full and thoroughly spent as he collapsed onto his pillow. Yuuri watched the entire thing in awe, stunned that the always charming and regal Victor Nikiforov could even behave in this manner. It was almost cute.

“Yuuri!” Victor moaned from his position laid out over the pillow. “That was amazing!” He eyed him from underneath the table. “I can understand why it inspires your Eros.”

Yuuri couldn’t help grumbling at the remark as he lowered onto his own pillow, after dinner exhaustion settling over him.

“Do you feel inspired now?”

Yuuri nearly scoffed. He supposed it had been nice to have the dish again, though it hadn’t been nearly as good as his mother’s… His eyes glazed over, remembering the seasoning on the plump rice grains, the perfectly juicy cutlets. Perhaps this could be his Eros…

“Anything?” Victor’s voice asked again, but this time it sounded much closer. He felt a gentle pressure on his bottom lip and his eyes shot open. Victor hovered over him, silver bangs falling into his eyes as he dragged a slow thumb over his mouth.

Yuuri went numb, his heart hammering mercilessly to get out of his chest. He attempted to respond and managed less than a croak.

Victor seemed to sympathize with his distressed state and immediately pulled away, his fingers leaving Yuuri’s face. “Sorry!” He waved his hands and returned to his own mat. “You had something here.” He pointed to his own mouth.

“Ah…I… ” Yuuri babbled, blinking slowly, brain short circuiting. Why couldn’t he think?! “Thanks.” He found a word and then remembered his mother’s pork cutlet bowls. “I think I found some inspiration for Eros.”

Victor beamed suddenly. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” Yuuri raised an eyebrow, turning onto his side. “My mom’s pork cutlet bowls.” He grinned. “They’re really good.”

“Oh.” He could have sworn the Primaja’s shoulder’s deflated slightly at this news. “She must be an amazing cook.”

“She is…” A smile curved over Yuuri’s lips as he gazed up at the ceiling where thinly carved illustrations etched into the marble, mostly of the Goddess. “I guess you’ll have something to look forward to.” His gaze traveled over the engravings of the Goddess raining down ice shards, emerging from ice caverns, poised on iced lakes. He followed them all to the center of the piece where the Fire God raged from deep within the crust, trapped within a never shedding cocoon. He frowned, remembering the newscast from earlier that day, remembering Emil’s capture, the rebels and the troubling things they’d said. 

 

“Victor?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know anything about the rebel faction they found earlier?”

  
Silver locks shook gently in the distance. “Not really.”

He couldn't imagine Emil admitting anything about JJ's plan or the spy to the authorities. He'd have to face Sara's wrath if he did. But the capitol’s wrath was a force to be reckoned with as well. Yuuri remembered what they did to Guang Hong and his stomach leadened. They’d do worse to make Emil talk. And if Yuuri informed the capitol that he harbored any information to begin with, it would only cut his chances of survival. If the capitol killed Emil because of something he suggested...

Yuuri squirmed in discomfort. “They say the Fire God has summoned JJ...”

"They?"

"Eh.. just... people." 

He could almost feel Victor’s energies dissipating. “You’re going to ruin our date by bringing up JJ?”

Yuuri blushed wildly, thankful that Victor could only make out half of his face. “S— Sorry.”

“The Flame Primaja is just a myth, Yuuri,” Victor muttered, eyes trailing the ceiling as well. “Something fire folk could hold on to while they were dying off after the Goddess’s siege. When they had nothing else.” He shifted restlessly upon the pillow.

“Well…” Yuuri bit his lip. “He's still a serious threat, right?”

 _JJ has a secret in at the palace…_ Sara’s words scorched over his mind. “What if he has a spy inside?” Maybe if he planted the seed in Victor’s head, he would pass it on to Chris. Just knowing about the spy's presence might benefit him.

_Or incriminate him. He'd be the first anyone would suspect._

_What if they're right to suspect him?_

He shook his head and took a deep breath. When he turned to his left, he nearly gasped. Victor fixed him with a piercing stare, eyes narrowed, the post-pork cutlet bowl bliss evaporated.

“What makes you say that?”

“Eh… um…” He chuckled nervously as he sat up, reaching back to scratch at his head. “It just seems like something we should be on the lookout for. We don’t want the barrier to the shrine broken…” He paused, realizing that he probably sounded firephobic again. “I— I mean, I'm sure there are a lot of rebel factions! With all the abuse of fire folk! A— And the power plants—”

Victor’s eyes widened and he sat up as well. “The power plants?”

Yuuri crumpled back against the pillow again, suddenly exhausted. “Sorry. I just need to clear my mind.” He placed the back of his hand across his forehead.

 _Just forget it,_ he told himself. _The capitol military knows what they’re doing. They already made a capture. Let them handle it._

 _But you have a tip_ , another voice responded. Was he willing to risk the world to protect the members of a rebel group who’d considered killing him upon discovering his true identity? To protect Chris, who might be the spy regardless? To protect men like Celestino’s father?

“I'm not sure what to think anymore…” he groaned, massaging roughly at his bangs.

  
“Yuuri?”

He turned to see Victor surveying him with pensive eyes.

“Hm?”

Victor angled himself onto his side so that he faced Yuuri completely, hoisting himself up on one arm, waves of silver falling over his exposed shoulder. “When I was a boy, I didn’t have much to eat after my grandmother died.”

Yuuri’s brow knitted, unsure of what prompted the admission, but curious all the same. He’d always wanted to know more about Victor’s childhood.

"I didn’t want to leave home at first. I grew up there. I learned how to skate on the pond in the yard.” Victor smiled, the edges tinged with melancholy. “I was determined to stay there on my own. After her funds ran out, I would go to a new shop every night and try to get away with bread or cheese. Sometimes they’d call the authorities and I’d get a warm cell and a meal for the night. The nicer shopkeepers would let me go or call an orphanage to pick me up. But one night…” Victor paused, his features going tense, and Yuuri braced himself.

“I went to a grocery on the outskirts of town and tried to get away with the usual. But when the shopkeeper caught me, he didn’t call the authorities or the orphanage and he didn’t let me go.” He frowned, eyes drifting downward. “I guess he thought he would teach me a lesson on his own. He took me to the back and burned me so badly I could barely move when he was done with me. I remember thinking I was going to die. That my life had amounted to being tortured to death in the back of a filthy old grocery shop.” Victor chuckled bitterly to himself. “He would have killed me had I been anyone else. I think that’s probably what he was going for come to think of it.” He tapped thoughtfully at his bottom lip.

Yuuri’s breathing trembled, his fists clenching. Vicchan… Celestino… And now Victor…

“I blacked out somewhere in the middle and I guess when I wouldn’t die, he threw me outside,” Victor continued. “Someone found me the next day and sent me back to the orphanage.” He smiled lightly. “You can bet I never tried escaping from one again.”

“That’s not funny…” Yuuri breathed lowly, a storm whipping in his chest. How could anyone hurt Victor? Especially as a child. The innocent, sleeping boy in the weathered photograph with the old woman. The boy wrapped around a grumpy Yakov’s neck with bright eyes and wild hair. What kind of person could do that?

Not a person at all.

Perhaps Seung-gil had been right. What if fire really did madden them? If fire folk were safe, why did everyone seem to share a story like this? Even someone as sweet and unassuming as a 7-year-old Victor Nikiforov? He understood why fire folk wanted to protect themselves. He would do the same in their situation, but he couldn’t let this go on. Not for Emil’s safety. Not for Chris’s protection. Or Mila’s friend from the conservatory. He had to tell someone.

“Yuuri.” Victor cocked his head. “What are you thinking?”

Yuuri blinked slowly as though coming out of a daze, his hand already fixed on the phone at his side, ready to call Celestino. To inform him that there were dangerous unsolved questions and the capitol harbored someone who could answer them.“Um…”

“Are you plotting revenge?” A grin blossomed in a heart on Victor’s lips, eyes shining. “Thinking of taking on the entire fire population for me?”

  
“N— No!” Yuuri protested, heat traveling up his neck. “I just— I can’t—”

Victor tugged the sleeve of his already exposed shoulder downward and Yuuri ceased to speak, the words vanishing.

There, upon Victor’s otherwise flawless skin, looped a thin, pink ring, similar to a scar Yuuri had seen recently. Just two weeks earlier in fact.

Yuuri could only stare as Victor’s fingers massaged over the mark— a mark only one thing could create. He felt stupid, foolish, but mostly, he felt guilty. He let the phone slide back onto the floor, eyes focusing down beside it. “I… I didn’t realize…”

“It’s mostly faded over the years,” Victor said, frowning down at the mark. “But do you know how hard you have to try to scar an ice elemental with their own element? Even one who hasn’t presented yet?”

Yuuri shook his head, more in bewilderment than ignorance, the pork and rice souring in his stomach.

“It’s a lot of effort to put into killing a kid,” Victor said lightly and Yuuri wondered how he could be so calm. “Maybe we should just round up all of the ice elementals. We can’t have them wandering the streets as dangerous as they—”

“I get it. I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispered, though his apology wasn’t truly meant for Victor.

A soft sigh. “It’s alright, Yuuri.” He pulled the sweater over the scar and grabbed his pillow, scooting over the space that separated them and sidling up next to him. “I understand. I was afraid to use my own magic for a while. Like you.” He smiled as he lowered to the ground beside him until they both laid on their sides facing one another. “But I found it eventually. You will too.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, seeing Victor in a different light, splatters of color bursting anew on an old canvas.

“On the other hand,” Victor started. “One of the fire elementals at the orphanage tried to singe my hair off.” He shrugged with grin. “I guess she thought it was prettier than hers.”

“Wow.” Yuuri turned onto his back to face the ceiling again, not wanting to show pity and unable to pretend even for a second that he could empathize.

“Element aside, some people are terrible, Yuuri,” Victor sighed, following his gaze upward to the deities trapped in the marble.

“Mm.” Yuuri nodded. The competing thoughts in his head had all seemed to silence to give him peace for one moment. Perhaps they were too overwhelmed to do anything else.

“And some people are wonderful.”

He felt Victor take his hand from where it lay on his chest, threading their fingers together, their arms creating a ‘W’ between them.

He watched Victor for a bit with tinted cheeks. His eyes closed now, silver lashes brushing against the pillow, hair framing his serene expression and falling into lustrous pools all around him. His form rose and fell rhythmically in time with his breathing, with the energy pulsing through both their arms. He seemed… content. The most content Yuuri had seen him so far in fact. 

_Do you really think so much of me, Victor?_

The sleeping man seemed to answer, pulling Yuuri’s hand in closer and nuzzling it against his cheek.

 _Then why did you treat me like a slave for a month?_ another more cynical voice asked.

Yuuri dismissed the retort. _Soon_ , he thought, banishing it away, and it wasn’t as difficult. Because Victor wanted to meet him. Victor admired him. Victor had sworn on the Goddess for him.

He suddenly felt an urge to measure up to that dedication. To give it a better reason for being.

“I’ll start my practice for the Eros of the Pork Cutlet Bowl tomorrow.” Yuuri nodded determinedly, eyes on the paneled ceiling.

Victor cleared his throat and Yuuri suspected it was a frail attempt at hiding laughter.

“That sounds good.” He looked up to face him, washing over Yuuri’s senses completely. He realized that it was almost easier to face Victor when he viewed him as a sham— a desperate fading star, frightened and envious. But Victor was so much more than that now, the seemingly immortal being that Yuuri had grown to idolize peeking out again. Yuuri’s breath caught and he shook his head. If he wanted to be taken seriously as Victor’s student he couldn’t let the Primaja affect him like this. Yurio never did.

“Thanks for coming, Yuuri.” Victor squeezed at his hand and the stream of energy intensified. “I had fun.”

“Me too.” Yuuri managed.

“And,” Victor’s gaze lowered, eyes avoiding. He was suddenly on ground level with Yuuri again, nothing vaguely immortal about him. “I hope you can grow to trust me. As your coach.”

“I…” Yuuri paused, wetting his lips. “I still don’t understand why you did it.” He squeezed at his hand. “But I want you as my coach. And I don’t hold anything against you. So please don’t feel bad.”

“Yuuri...”  The icy blue melted into watery pools and Victor moved forward to drape his arms around him, rocking him back and forth in a hug, his God-like image crumbling more and more with each motion. “I don’t deserve you as a student!”

“Maybe not,” Yuuri joked and the more anxious half of his mind instantly regretted it, screaming at him to beg forgiveness. He resisted.

“So then same time tomorrow?” Victor asked with hopeful eyes, hands gripping Yuuri’s as he pulled away.

Yuuri tensed, waiting for the feeling of dread that swept over him with each of Victor’s invitations. When it didn't come, a shy, but teasing grin slipped over his lips.

“I'll check my schedule."


	14. The Muse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hay gaiz! I would have had the update out a bit sooner, but I've been in a bit of a funk for the past few days. I was supposed to go to Disney World for my birthday starting tomorrow, but mother nature. So I've spent the past days waiting on hold for hours to cancel and reschedule things and it has been agitating so I didn't really write much.  
> If you're in the storm's area, I am praying for you guys! Hopefully it's not as bad as projected, eh?  
> Anyway, here is the next chapter:

Over the next few weeks, Yuuri put most of his efforts into pulling off his best tribute to his mother’s Pork Cutlet Bowl. He purposefully refrained from eating the dish to strengthen his lust. He envisioned himself, an enchanting dancer, desperately hungry upon his travels, performing in exchange for a taste of the cherished bowl. It worked about as well as expected…

“Yuuri!” Victor would tell him. “Be fluid like the steam rising from the cutlets!” This command usually preceded uproarious laughter from Yuri.

The technical aspects of the dance proved relatively manageable, aside from a few easily fixable flaws in his footwork and some rocky jumps. He woke up earlier than usual for practice and then went on well into the night, alternating rinks with Yuri, who— when he wasn’t laughing at him— seemed determined to do the same. Yuri no doubt hoped to speed through Agape so he could get to Eros— which they had caught the teen performing multiple times on more than one occasion. Victor would then promptly send him off to the temple or some other thinly veiled torture for ‘reflection’.

With the technical aspects of Eros down, save for a series of flubbed jumps when his nerves were frazzled, there only remained the muse and the magic. Unfortunately for Yuuri, these were the most important aspects of a sacred dance. He strived to perfect the Eros of the Pork Cutlet Bowl, picturing bigger, tastier bowls. Victor often encouraged him to imagine himself as the alluring bowl, arms of noodle, hips like cutlets. He’d even tried implementing Chris’s advice only to come to his senses three seconds in before rolling over and going to bed. At times he felt absolutely nothing but regret in his practices. In other moments, he felt jolts of inspiration, peculiar sparks that made him to feel things he didn’t realize he possessed a capability for. But those moments were fleeting, their origin unknown.

The only comfort Yuuri took in his own failures with Eros lied in Yuri’s equally harrowing struggle with Agape. The blond peppered the graceful moves with far too much fierceness, too much speed and ferocity, a restless tiger cub in ballet slippers. He often attempted to skate the dance to his own music rather than the more elegant choices Victor picked out for him— the sound of shrill minor chords and blaring electric instruments filling the rink.

Yuri did, however, manage proficiency in one particular area and he shoved it in Yuuri’s face whenever the opportunity presented itself. Regardless of the ill matched rage and rigor Yuri used with Agape, his magic didn’t suffer for it at all. He sped over the rink leaving ridged trails of ice in his wake. He created swirls of the element like skirts to decorate himself whenever he performed a spin. He even forged pork cutlet bowls of all shapes and sizes and left them in surprising places about the field for Yuuri to find.

Meanwhile for all his efforts, Yuuri couldn’t even manage a snowflake. Once again, the magic buzzed beneath his skin, itching and begging to escape but whenever it seemed it would break through, he shut down as usual, his breathing unstable, his heartbeat relentless. Between his failing element and the struggles with Eros, Victor’s praise and the Goddess’s choice began to make less and less sense to him. He didn’t feel inspiring or strong. Didn’t feel like a ‘chosen one’. Without his magic, he felt broken and useless. An imposter… The belief ate away at him like bacteria, nullifying his small successes or any words of encouragement he received. He ceased to accept Victor’s— or anyone’s— invitations, preferring to spend the bulk of his time practicing. And yet, strangely, his performances only seemed to be getting worse.

* * *

Yuuri felt the wrongness of the landing before his foot even touched the ground. It slipped from under him and he tumbled across the ice, feeling the burn through his sweatpants and sweatshirt as he slid toward the mounds of snow lining the outdoor rink.

He pushed up into a sitting position and cursed himself, thankful for the darkness that blanketed the vacant grounds at this hour, the quiet undisturbed peace of early morning.

Like most recent nights, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Restless and obsessed with refining his Eros, he’d ventured out to the rink at three that morning. Luckily, his newest guard, Sayuri— an ice dancer with a pixie cut and snowflake tattoos down her arm, was a night owl. He threw a brief look over his shoulder to see if she’d noticed the dive from the far side of the rink. She barely glanced up from her phone. Good.

He stood to his feet again, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He had to clear his mind before practice that day. Before the Goddess decided that she’d made her biggest mistake in him and that Yuri Plisetsky was all the Primaja she needed. Before Victor’s unending patience waned. He closed his eyes and whispered a brief thank you to the Goddess that Victor wasn’t here to witness yet another fall.  At the level he should have attained by now, double flips were amateur. There’s no way Victor would let him live it down if he’d seen—

“Yuuri!”

His blood went cold as the ice he stood on, heart pounding through to the sweatshirt. “V— V— Victor!” he stammered, spinning around.

The Primaja stood in a black windbreaker and ear muffs, hair tied back and streaming in the breeze, his usual cream colored skating duffel over his shoulder. Yuuri bit his lip. Perhaps he hadn’t seen?

“You usually flub your jumps when something’s on your mind.” Victor shot the theory down with a smile as he neared the field, tossing the bag down on a bench next to Yuuri’s own.

“Ah…” Yuuri waved him off. “It’s nothing!” The wind suddenly seemed cooler than before and he shuddered beneath it, making his way toward the perimeter of the rink with his head down.

 _Think I'm talented now, Victor?_ a bitter voice asked from the back of his mind and he shook it away. He bent down to apply his skate guards, one hand on the divider. “You probably want to practice for the shrine so I’ll get out of your way.”

Victor grasped his shoulder lightly and a rush of energy buzzed through him. Yuuri tensed and they stood in silence for a while. When Victor’s grip remained just as firm, Yuuri reluctantly lifted his gaze to find pensive blue eyes.

“You look tired,” he said.

Yuuri felt a rush of irritation. Of course he looked tired. He’d been struggling with Eros, with his magic for the past few weeks to no avail. Why did Victor have to point it out? How could it help? It made him feel… Made him feel…

Victor’s hand lowered to his side immediately as though he’d realized his mistake and Yuuri finally found his words.

“I’m fine.” He tried to force a smile, but he was certain a grimace twisted his lips instead. “I just need to practice more if I want to be ready when the Goddess calls.” He gave a short bow. “Sorry I cut into your practice time.” He started to head off down the paved pathway lining the rink toward Sayuri.

“Yuuri?”

The hairs at the back of his neck prickled as he walked. Should he pretend he hadn’t heard him?

“You’re leaving your bag.”

He paused, face going warm despite the cold. Head down, movements rigid, he spun on his heel and made a beeline for the bench. Nothing but the wind’s soft whistling accompanied the crunch of his skates in the snow as he descended on the bag, ignoring the eyes trained on him.

Victor’s lips turned up a bit as he watched Yuuri fumble over the bag. “Did you know I didn’t come to live in the capitol until I was about nine?”

Yuuri’s hands tensed, his movements slowing. What an oddly placed question. Why was Victor telling him this? And of course he knew. There wasn’t much about Victor’s history that he didn’t know... “Ah… I heard."

“I hadn’t had any formal training. I was just a random kid in an orphanage tucked away in the Northlands.” He chuckled, taking a seat on the bench beside his bag. “Never thought I'd end up here.”

Yuuri shrugged, eyes still on the snow. “You were talented.”

“I couldn’t use the Goddess’s power to savage the grounds.” He shot him a knowing grin and Yuuri's heart jumped. “In the orphanage, the only crowds I drew were dust bunnies in the back halls and kitchen mice.” He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Even after I was discovered, I wasn’t the popular choice for years before I awakened. Other candidates had been raised in the capitol, trained all their lives. And I was the dirty orphan from the North with a penchant for fire folk.”

Yuuri remembered vaguely now. Articles and reports that belittled Victor, that didn’t take him seriously as a Primaja hopeful. Some of those journalists vanished from the spotlight not long after, shamed out of the industry. Because they’d been wrong. Victor had been so much more than that.

“But in the end, it didn’t matter what other people thought, how much better reared or competent those other dancers were, it didn’t even matter what I wanted,” he said, staring upward into the dark sky. “The Goddess chose me and I was always exactly where she needed me to be.” He turned to look up at Yuuri. “Even if I didn’t know it at the time.”

“I see.” Yuuri abandoned the straps of his duffel bag, opting to take a seat beside Victor, elbows resting on his thighs, hands folded. "Minako said my power might be compensating for my magic,” he spoke after a long silence.

Victor pulled the earmuffs down to rest at the base of his neck, his lips turned up in an amused grin. “I’d say it’s more than compensating.”

“I still miss it,” Yuuri said, staring at his hands. “The feel of it. Having an extension of myself. It felt…” he sighed. “Natural.”

He sensed Victor’s eyes on him again, sensed them sobering.

“Can you imagine not having it?” Yuuri asked.

“Not really.”

“When I was younger, I really wanted to impress Yuko,” he went on, smiling to himself. “I would invite her over days in advance and I’d pray and pray to the Goddess each hour for it to come back.” He squeezed tightly at his clasped fingers, the knuckles white. “But I disappointed her every time.” His head drew down, dark bangs falling over his eyes. “Even now, she’s still waiting on me. I always felt bad about that. No one should have to…” He drew a deep breath. “… wait that long.”

Victor remained silent for a while and Yuuri followed suit, unsure of what he’d expected. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything at all. He lifted his gaze from the glistening snow cradling his skates to see the beginnings of golden light piercing the dark in the distance, beyond the castle grounds and over the white mountaintops. His stomach clenched. The sun’s emergence only served to remind him of all the hours ticking by, the countless he’d wasted, the little he had left.

“It’s beautiful,” Victor sighed as he leaned back onto the balls of his palms. Yuuri supposed he couldn’t deny that, the deep red hues bleeding into gold and stirring something in his chest.

“Do you ever watch the afternoon sky like this, Yuuri? Once the sun's risen?”

Victor was full of odd questions tonight. He watched the late morning and afternoon sky sometimes, for the clouds or the pure expanse of it. But it couldn’t quite compare to the impact of dawn, the colors, the first beginnings of light breaking through the dark. “Not really.”

“Me neither,” Victor shrugged with a smile. “It’s more interesting to watch it rise, don’t you think?”

Yuuri turned to face him directly, but Victor’s gaze fell on him rather than the sky.

“What?” Yuuri gulped.

“I don’t expect you to be perfect, Yuuri.” He frowned. “You just started.”

Logic told him Victor had a good point, but doubt blotted it out. “I know I can’t be perfect right away.” He bit his lip. “It’s just, after all my failures, I don’t want you to…” His fingers trembled and he squeezed them tighter in an attempt to still them. “I don’t want you to think I’m too weak for this.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “Weak? You've been practicing more than twelve hours daily. You survive practice with Yurio everyday." He chuckled. "You didn't run home or even complain after I tried to make you. You think that’s weak?”

Yuuri fidgeted.

“I don’t think anyone would call you weak, Yuuri,” Victor laughed. “But you can’t rush success.” He winked. “Even the sun has to rise, right?”

Yuuri nearly rolled his eyes. Victor didn’t understand. If he’d been ‘rising’, he’d been doing it for a long time. He didn’t want to be coddled for his failures. Like a child. His fists clenched. “You don’t have to say that…”

Victor’s shoulders deflated. “Yuuri…”

“You don’t have to patronize me. I know my flaws better than anyone else.” He shot from his seat with enough force to topple objects from the bench, no longer able to manage the anxiety fueled adrenaline surging through his veins sitting down. “I don’t want anyone making excuses for me. I’ve been working at this my entire life and I’m still…” He blinked, searching for the right words. "Still…" In Hasetsu? Still practicing desperately at the Ice Castle each day? Still in his bedroom, staring at Victor, unmoving, through glossy magazine clippings? Still waiting for an unlikely awakening?

He suddenly felt silly. Ridiculous even. Because no. Yuuri wasn’t ‘still’ anything. He was Primaja in line. He lived here at the Winter Palace, practicing in one of the most renowned rinks in the world, a rink he’d demolished with the sheer weight of his newly claimed power just over a month ago. He stood next to Victor Nikiforov— the real one— who stared up at him as though he were the rising sun itself. The Goddess had chosen him and he was here.

_Exactly where she needed me to be._

The cool air teased at his skin, the wind’s whistle distinct in his ears and for the first time in weeks, he felt present. His fists unfurled and he found his seat again, the hard rigidity that had made a home in his shoulders evaporating into the chilled atmosphere within an instant. A sheepish grin curved over his lips as he settled back onto the wood of the bench.

“Sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders in, averting his gaze to the open sky, now a dazzling mix of gold, crimson, rose and periwinkle blue. He didn’t have his Eros yet, didn’t have his magic. But he had this much. He’d be a fool to take it for granted.

Victor still blinked at him with rounded eyes, speechless at the sudden mood shift. His lips curled into a smile again, head tilted. “You’re full of surprises, Yuuri.”

“S— Sorry!” Yuuri sputtered, realizing that he'd knocked Victor’s bag over in his fervor and immediately rushing to grab it.

“No,” The Primaja laughed, his hand catching Yuuri’s, the gentle energy humming through, soft and soothing. “I like it.” The words ghosted gently against his ear.

A mixture of adrenaline and another more intimate sensation jolted through him. Victor squeezed his hand, eying it thoughtfully before glancing back up to smile at him, aqua blue sparkling, a heart on his mouth. Something snapped into place and Yuuri solved it. The mystery. The thing that eluded him practice after practice. The epiphany settled over him in prickles on his skin, hairs raising.

“Don’t worry about your magic for now.” Victor winked. “Let’s concentrate on your Eros.”

“Right.” Yuuri stared into him, features focused as if committing every line, every curvature to memory. An electric smile flashed over his lips. “I’ll give it everything I’ve got.” His fingers curled around Victor's. “So…” he started, cheeks blossoming with color. “Don’t give up on me?”

Victor stared at him a while, his fingers tightening over Yuuri’s. The sun’s unbridled rays pierced through the dark, spilling light over the snowfield. He nodded solemnly. “I won’t.”

* * *

 

Yuuri buzzed with excitement on the way to practice later that day, clutching his bag too tightly as he padded down the velvet staircase toward the basement level. This was it. He was going to show Victor his Eros. His true Eros. He’d told Victor he would rest the moment he returned to his chambers early that morning. It had been a lie of course. He’d practiced without end, over and over his bedroom floor, all the while keeping the memory clear, imagining it there with him, twinkling in the dark. As expected, he felt the swell of a mysterious new force in his performance, his poise more fluid, his movements electrified. Eros finally presented itself and he felt it through every inch of his body to his core, the essence of the dance practically stringing his arms and feet to move him like a puppet.

He bit his lips as he neared the landing and stepped onto the white marble of the basement hall, fingers curling into his shoulders. He hoped Victor wouldn’t think the request too odd… He was his coach after all. It wasn’t so strange, was it? Victor wanted to see him succeed. A tiny smile curved onto his lips and he pressed forward, starting down the hall and toward the rink at the end.

“What the hell are you so happy about, pig?”

  
He almost jumped as Yuri passed him in an oversized burnt orange sweatshirt and black leggings, Otabek not far behind, his guard’s coats trailing after him.

“Yurio!” Yuuri said. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see you acting weird.” Yuri narrowed his eyes in suspicion as they strolled to the rink together. A malicious grin suddenly spread over his lips. “Talking to your imaginary Pork Cutlet Bowl lover?”

Yuuri simply smiled to himself and continued walking. Yuri didn’t know yet that he’d found the key to his Eros of the Pork Cutlet Bowl. He wondered how he would respond when he saw it… “How’s Agape working out, Yurio?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the boy muttered in a low tone. “How’s Eros working out for you?”

“It’s going much better actually!”

Yuri didn’t seem to like this answer, his jaw setting. “Huh.” The sneer returned once again. “Well, I’m sure it’s easy for a pilgrimage stripper like you.” He snickered. “Apparently, the only thing you know how to work is a pole in the Southlands.” He glanced behind him. “Right Otabek?”

Yuuri frowned. A pilgrimage stripper? His eyes went wide. “Yurio?” He turned to him. “You actually watched those vlogs?”

Yuri tensed, lips puckering inward as though he’d sucked a lemon. “N— No!” he said. “I— I just heard! That’s all! Who’d wanna watch that?!”

“Oh, sorry.” Yuuri couldn’t stop the knowing grin from spreading over his lips. “You just sounded like you were speaking from personal experience.”

“Otabek!” Yuri coughed, his face going red as he sped forward for the double doors of the rink. “Help me with my skates!”

“Right.” Otabek moved ahead quickly, making an effort not to look Yuuri in the eye as he barreled past. Yuuri stared after them as they awkwardly struggled with the door before bursting through as soon as the opening widened enough and disappearing behind the frosted glass.

Yuuri sighed. He didn’t think he was ever so troublesome as a kid.

He continued on down the hall after them and placed his hand on the silvered handle of the door when a muffled voice stopped him mid-pull, his arm freezing.

“This isn’t like you,” came a deep, familiar tone from inside the room to his right, the dark wood door pulled shut.

“Chris, I can’t do it,” he heard Victor say and he sounded so distressed that Yuuri moved forward instinctually before willing himself to a halt. “I can’t. You have to help me.”

“It’s impossible.” Chris sighed. “You know that, Victor. It’s too late to even consider—”

“It’s not too late yet,” he snapped. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Chris’s voice grew quiet and serious and Yuuri gulped. He’d never heard him like this before.

“If this goes off anything but perfectly as planned, my ass is going to be the one on the line.”

“You’ve done it before,” Victor’s tone raised, thick and incensed. “Since when do you care about—”

There was an abrupt hissing sound and then silence. Yuuri waited by the door, his breath held, features tense. He started to lean in further when it flew open, the wood knocking against the wall inside of the room. Yuuri yelped as the two men stared out at him from a small office, Chris with a raised eyebrow and Victor with tired, conflicted features.

“I— I was just on my way to practice!” Yuuri laughed, lifting his duffel bag as though it pardoned him. He spun back toward the door to the rink, gripping the handle again.

“Where’s your guard?” Chris asked with a frown.

“Ah…” Yuuri started, hoping the tremor in his hand wasn’t obvious as he slipped the door open and held it for them. “Mickey said he’d meet me down here. He’s been pretty torn up over his sister.”

“Right…”

“Ready for practice today, Yuuri?” Victor cut in, beaming ear to ear. “Did you get enough sleep this morning?”

Yuuri simply blinked into his glowing expression, confused once again at his ability to speed from one mood to the next unfazed. How much practice had it taken?

“Eh…” he stumbled in response, still stuck on the hushed conversation. What did Victor need help with? Why couldn’t Chris help him?

 _We just talked this morning. Why hasn’t he told me?_ another, slightly agitated voice asked. He thought back to the Crystal Garden, to the other secret that Yuuri still waited patiently for Victor to divulge. Why hadn’t Victor told him _anything_?

  
“Me first!” A blur of blond soared toward them over the ice and leaned forward over the partition. “I was here first!”

“Mm, that is true.” Victor nodded, eyes flitting to Yuuri. “Some of us were busy doing other things.” He winked. “Right Yuuri?”

With that, Victor started forward to meet with Yuri and Yuuri stood there with his mouth agape. Was Victor angry at him?

“Yuuri,” Chris called and he turned around to see him staring. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Er… hardly anything!” Yuuri answered semi-honestly. Not enough to make sense of it anyway. “I just got down here!”

Chris kept his gaze steady for a while before finally nodding and falling back into disappointing silence. Yuuri took a deep breath, his chest tight. He was growing tired of secrets and conversations that halted the moment he entered the room, from the guards, Elders, the palace crowds and from Victor… He’d been in the capitol for months. Why did he still feel like an outsider?

 _It was a private conversation_ , he told himself. _It had nothing to do with you. Just focus on your Eros today._

He nodded, impatience growing in his gut and filling him head to toe with adrenaline. Yuri glided over the ice, poise perfect, ice crystals flying, Agape lacking once again. Victor lectured him on something and he snapped back in response, catching Yuuri out of the corner of his eye and giving him the finger, embellished with a ring of frost. Yuuri replied with a smirk and a shrug. True, he wouldn’t perform any elemental spells today. Today his magic was not rooted in ice and frost. It wouldn’t sweep prettily over the rink. It wouldn’t sparkle and bedazzle. But it would leave its mark. And like Eros, they would feel it. Deeply.

* * *

“Um…” He searched for the right phrasing. “Victor…” he paused, his breathing shaky as he watched the other man's increasingly concerned expression peering into him from across the partition. “I need you…”

Victor’s eyes ballooned, his mouth going slack.

“To watch me,” Yuuri finished quickly. “I need you to watch me!” His voice carried loudly over the rink and he glanced up to see Yuri, nose wrinkled in irritation, the three guards eying him with mild curiosity from the perimeter. Shaking his head, he turned back to Victor with resolve. “Can you?”

  
Victor’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. “Of course.”

“Don’t look away, not at Yurio, not at anything.” He grasped the Primaja’s hands and relished in the power that flowed through him, squeezing as though it would create a lasting connection. “Only at me.”

Victor nodded again, eyes still questioning.

Yuuri skated to the center of the ice and stilled himself. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt different under Victor’s gaze. Not only as though he had something to prove— though there was that— but something to give, something to receive. To draw in and possess. To be drawn from in turn.

The accompanying track rose from the speakers and he took his starting pose in the center of the rink facing Victor, whose eyes hadn’t left him since he took off from the partition. Satisfied, he closed his own, drew in a deep breath and waited.

The feeling sparked sure as the oxygen filling his lungs, surging through him and animating his limbs. A smile curved over his lips as the guitar began at the start of the track and he began to move, lifting his arms slow and sultry and sparing a wink at Victor. Immediately after, he spun into the familiar series of steps over the ice, movements more loose and fluid than any of his performances under the guidance of the pork cutlet bowl.

  
Under Victor's eyes, he was a pork cutlet bowl no longer. He became a sunrise, beautiful, elegant and captivating… Ever transforming. That’s how he would draw Victor in. And once captured, he wouldn’t be able to look away if he wanted. He glanced his way during a spin to see the Primaja’s eyes still fixed on him and the adrenaline surged more swiftly through his veins, power pushing out and tingling on the surface of his skin. Perfect.

His movements infused with greater fervor now as he leapt into a jump, that familiar feeling returning. The one that aided him during his awakening at the Ice Castle and in the challenge at the outdoor rink. The possessing force that locked him in a trance and mimicked his actions until they were no longer his own.

 _You have to stop_ , a voice in the back of his head told him, anxious and worried. Alien. He didn’t know that person any longer. The familiar rush of power surged throughout the rink and it invigorated him. He turned to see if Victor felt the same. The Primaja's eyes remained on him still, though they revealed a very different emotion.

“Yuuri!” Yuuri heard him call and he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Did he want him to stop already? But he was doing so well… It wasn’t as though he could deny it.

_Can you, Victor?_

Items, pages of magazines and towels, flew about the rink now and Yuuri didn’t care to attempt to stop them. This was the best part. And he was feeling lucky. Building up momentum again, he took off from the ground to perform a quad. He got in two rotations before losing control between the third and fourth. Thrown off and still moving entirely too fast, he lost his footing as he landed, sailing directly into the partition on his right. All of the paper and other debris fell to the ground at once as if they’d never taken flight and he twitched from the bottom of the partition, his nose leaking fresh blood as he pushed himself up.

“I— I can finish—”

“NO!” he heard Mickey cry at once.

Yuuri groaned, head spinning recklessly as he searched the arena for Victor. He didn’t have to search much longer as rushed footsteps bounded his way and halted behind him. He gazed up to see a pair concerned blue eyes peering down at him from the top of the partition, framed by disarrayed silver tresses, loose in a red ribbon.

“Here.” Victor offered his hand and Yuuri reluctantly took it, using it and the top of the partition to pull himself to his feet. He noticed the upturned rugs near the stands and the strewn mess of towels and paper. Still the unfinished dance remained at the front of his thoughts.

“I didn’t finish,” he muttered unable to look Victor in the eye. “I was so—”

“Yuuri,” Victor breathed and the bewildered expression on his features silenced him. “That was…” He shook his head. “That was…”

Yuuri swallowed hard.

“AMAZING!” he gushed, lips bowing into a heart, hands on both cheeks.

A nervous laugh escaped Yuuri’s throat. “R— Really?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before!” Victor grasped him by the shoulders. “And your Eros! You found it! It was incredible, Yuuri!” He pressed their foreheads together, arms draped around his neck. “I should look at you more often.”

Yuuri felt heat rising to his face and his nosebleed started again.

“Here,” Victor chuckled, reaching down to take one of the towels that Yuuri levitated during his performance and pressing it against his nose. “We’ll have to work on your jumps of course. They aren’t necessary for the shrine, but for shows—”

“You’ll let me do shows with you?!” Yuuri blurted, eyes wide. Primaja was one thing, but dancing across the ice to crowds of thousands, Victor at his side? His heart could have melted.

“With me?” Victor blinked. “You can head your own show, Yuuri.”

“My… My own show?” For the entire capitol? His stomach lurched.

“But first we’ll have to work on controlling your power.” Victor gave an almost nervous laugh and scratched the back of his head. “You can’t have the audience flying out of their chairs.”

“S— Sorry!” Yuuri stammered, eying his hands as though they’d animate and devour him. “I still don’t know what’s happening. It’s like I keep awakening over and over again.”

“It’s alright.” He watched as Victor’s hands curled into his, gentle but firm. They squeezed, the soft thrum comforting him. “Think of it as a gift.”

Yuuri's cheeks burned again and he nodded. “Okay.”

“Now let me take you to dinner to celebrate!” Victor crooned, pulling him into a hug again.

“Victor…”

The two of them went on in their usual fashion, completely unaware of the boy seething at the opposite corner of the rink as he watched them from afar.

“Shit!” Yuri cursed as he fell back onto a metal bench, blond tresses wild from the effects of Yuuri's Eros. “That was actually really awesome!” He squeezed roughly at the phone in his hand, teeth gritted.

“More awesome than those drunk pilgrimaging videos you made me watch last night?” Otabek asked from the bench beside him, laid back, eyes closed. Yuri grunted in his direction.

“I just thought they were funny, okay?!” He blushed slightly, watching as Mickey struggled to clean up the mess that Yuuri had left strewn across the rink while Chris stared after the pair curiously from near the doors. Yuri followed his gaze and rolled his eyes at the two as they began to pack up together.

“Victor’s like this all the time now.” Yuri sighed, paging through the phone’s camera roll with a creased brow. “You don’t think he's really in love with him, do you?” He scoffed. “He’d have to be a total idiot.”

Otabek shrugged, eyes still closed.

“He’s always obsessing over that pig. He’s never…” He took a deep breath. “What about me?” His hand trembled around the phone. “I need to be ready!”

“You said you didn’t need Victor to be ready.”

“I don’t!” Yuri growled. “I just…” He trailed off, eyes trained on a picture on the phone’s screen. Yuuri in a cramped, dimly lit space with a group of people. A familiar group of people. He caught the Crispino sister’s notorious scowl in the background and his eyes ballooned. The renegades from the news. He scrolled to the next picture. Yuuri on a motorbike with two of them. His chest began to hammer. “Wh— What is this?!” He silenced for a bit, fingers padding at the phone screen.

“Yuri?” Otabek frowned at the silence. He opened one eye to glance at his ward and upon seeing, immediately dashed from the bench. He yanked the phone out of Yuri’s hands and deposited it into the pocket of his jacket.

“I told you to stop going through my phone.” He gave a heavy sigh and threw a quick gaze over his shoulder. “You’re like a jealous girl.”

“WHAT?!” Yuri snapped, jetting up from the bench. “You just take cool pictures sometimes! I’m not jealous! Why would I be?!” Still agitated, he flipped the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head so that it fell over his face. “Don’t say stupid things, Otabek,” he mumbled, still giving him a hard stare from beneath the hood, green eyes piercing.

“What?” Otabek shrugged.

“What?” Yuri mocked. “What the fuck is that on your phone?! Aren’t those the rebels?” He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, eying Victor and Yuuri across the way. “What’s Pork Cutlet Bowl doing with them?! Where’d you even take those?!”

Otabek sighed, running a hand over his forehead and down his face, eyes closed. “Katsuki didn’t know they were rebels at the time. One of them was injured and he was helping him out,” he finally said, eying Yuri pointedly. “One of the military sleuths sent it to me.”

“Bullshit.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “What were you doing there? And why didn’t you tell me?!” A sneer suddenly curled over his lips. “Does the council know about this?”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “I thought you and Katsuki were cool now.”

“Cool?!” Yuri blared. “With him?!”

“Yuri.” Otabek’s features hardened. “ It’s confidential. This can’t get out.”

“Aw.” Yuri pouted in faux sympathy. "You feel bad for the pig now?” He scoffed, arms folded tightly, fingers ripping into the material of his hoodie. “I didn’t know you were so soft, Otabek. If you like him so much then why don’t you join his guard?!”

Otabek stared at him in silence. Nodding, he turned on his heel and walked toward the exit of the rink.

Yuri blinked after him, eyes steadily growing wider and wider, waiting for him to slow to a stop. When he rounded the corner, Yuri jetted after him, nearly knocking into Mickey on his way out.

“H— Hey!” he stammered, sprinting down the hall where Otabek had already began climbing the stairs. “Wait up!”

The guard slowed marginally, but said nothing. Yuri fell into stride beside him, head bowed.

“So where you going?”

“Shooting range.”

“Oh. Cool.” More silence. “Why? You ah… pissed or something?”

“Nah.”

A deep breath that he hadn’t been aware of holding eased out of his lungs. “Cool.”

Otabek’s dark eyes fell on him. “You thought I was going to join Katsuki’s guard?”

Yuri snorted. “That would make Pork Cutlet Bowl’s guard a thousand times cooler than he actually deserves.”

“It would be a hell of a lot easier than protecting you.” 

Yuri gave him a light shove. “I don't need your protection.” 

 “Right.” Otabek eyed him from the side, a smile on his lips. “So what are you gonna do with those pictures?” His grin sobered as they reached the first landing. “I know you sent them to your phone.”

A smirk curved over Yuri’s lips. “I have a few ideas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyhow...I hope you enjoyed. I'm worried these fluff chapters stall the story a bit too much so the good news is that starting next chapter, the plot is taking off again and pretty much won't stop until I'm done.  
> Thank you guys for sticking with me past evil Victor. XD I will reveal his reasonings soon.
> 
> Also, there is a minor detail that I completely forgot to add for like the first six chapters and around chapter seven or eight, I realized that I didn't add it so I just kept it out of the story. I've been wondering if anyone would call me out on it. Can anyone guess what it is? XD
> 
> Comment and kudos are appreciated. Thank you much.


	15. The Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter REWRITE, but I'm posting a new chapter right after this goes up so stay tuned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter rewrite. (I'M POSTING THE ACTUAL NEW CHAPTER IN LIKE 30 MINUTES) I have been MIA for several reasons over the past 2 months. But one of them is because I rewrote/rearranged the past 4 chapters. Which made it 5 chapters when I was done. I didn't change any key plot points so you don't have to reread them. But if you'd like to for fun, that's fine.
> 
> I just really didn't like the order it was in before... Like, I hated it. Sorry, I'm a weird neurotic perfectionist. I'll try to save the massive rearrangements until I'm done after this. I want to rewrite this as an original story so I'm a bit more meticulous about it than I usually am. Bu fanfiction should be fun -_- -sigh-

“What kind of free leg is that?!” Elder Feltsman's gravelly tone carried over the outdoor rink. Yuuri wasn’t even one minute into practice. He stole a quick glance toward the partition to see Elder Feltsman and Baranovskaya leering at him and corrected his posture. They hadn’t picked a great day to sit in on practice. Admittedly, his Orge was lacking, but how could he skate the anger fueled routine perfectly when he felt the opposite?

Eons away from his weeks spent obsessing over finding his Eros, the past month felt almost… easy. Discovering Eros opened a floodgate. Phobos, Lupe, and Agape came to him naturally and Yuri agreed to help him to master Orge with a grimace. Yuuri suspected the boy enjoyed teaching him— even if only just to scold him whenever he slipped up. Now only Chara remained. With each practice, he began to know the sacred dances, to know himself, intimately. Sometimes his findings shook him at the center. Equally often came catharsis and release, a great, dark cloud lifting from him with every outward breath.

His solid jumps outnumbered his failed ones and the ritual choreography permanently ingrained itself within the folds of his memory. He’d even found a way to control his power.

“Let’s try something,” Victor had volunteered one afternoon after Yuuri upturned another row of carefully preened Evergreens. The groundskeeper kneeled at their feet in a sea of pine needles, sobbing in frustration. “What if we practice channeling your power into one object again?” He motioned behind him. “Like Yurio for example.”

“WHAT?!” the boy barked.

Yuuri pulled himself away from the distraught groundskeeper and folded his arms, searching the grounds. “Oh.” He blinked with round eyes. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? “The snow.”

“That’s perfect!”

So Yuuri began reserving his practices for the outdoor rink where he focused on manipulating the snow alone. A dozen lifted roots, ten skewed benches, three duffel bags tangled in trees, and a flying Yuri Plisetsky later, he got the hang of it.

His magic still deserted him, but now he created his own snowstorms, manipulating the frost into glittering, evanescent sculptures. It wasn’t forging the element, but it did the job. And it was his alone. His power grew each day, skin buzzing with this strange, new gift from the Goddess, his pendant warm against his chest. Little by little, he took hold of some semblance of confidence that only flared brighter when Victor caught his eye and Yuuri snared him in turn, tethering them across the ice.

When alone, he made a project of recounting Victor’s entire career under the new light his education as Primaja gave him. He searched for recordings of Victor’s performances and found traces of the sacred dances in each one, crafting a fragmented timeline of Victor’s happiness, endearment, passion, sorrow, anger and fear. Disturbingly, Yuuri found the latter emotions dominated most of his performances— especially Lupe in recent years.

He began to wonder what demons lurked behind the bowed grin, the icy blue eyes that melted to soft sky when they fell on Yuuri. Judging from Victor’s behavior around him, it seemed nothing in the world ailed him. He was always cheery, chatting to him and embracing him, dragging him to venue after venue, bubbling over their visit to Hasetsu or planning their quest for an ancient garden. No Lupe. No Orge. No Phobos. Not since his hushed exchange with Chris…

“Victor?” Yuuri started one night after practice as they lingered over the palace grounds, stars blinking in and out of existence overhead. “… is everything okay?”

Victor put on a confused mask, but Yuuri caught the troubled glint, appearing and then vanishing in a blink. He knew it well.

“Everything’s fine.” Victor turned back to the palace with a stiff, plastered grin. He reached across the short space that separated them to thread his fingers through Yuuri’s, swinging their arms back and forth. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

The gentle, steady flow of Victor’s power soothed him and he felt the urge to relax into it, his concerns forgotten. Sometimes he wondered if he did it on purpose… “When I overheard you talking to Chris that time…” He shot him an apologetic glance. “You sounded really upset.”

The smile softened. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He gave his hand a squeeze mid-swing. “It’s taken care of.”

“Oh.” Yuuri mirrored the smile, though disappointment crusted up again when Victor didn’t elaborate. “… Good.” He let his hand fall limp, but Victor held it still, his grin widening, features lighting up.

“Are you worried about me, Yuuri?” He leaned in and Yuuri felt his face growing warm.

“I just—” he started, the scent of Victor’s floral cologne surrounding him. “Just thought I’d ask!”

“I’m fine.” Victor’s breath ghosted against his ear and he fought the urge to shudder. “I feel…” He silenced for a moment, leaving nothing but the wind, before smiling up into the shimmering dark. “Happy.” His gaze fell on Yuuri, the blue so fluid and quivering that Yuuri feared they would melt to puddles and spill down his cheeks.

“Victor?” He frowned, voice softening.

“When we’re done visiting Hasetsu, you’ll take me to the stars,” Victor laughed, leaning in to bump their shoulders together. “Right Yuuri?”

He nearly snorted, grinning as their eyes met. “Yeah.” His fingers curled tight over Victor’s. “Right.”

After that, Yuuri didn't bring it up again. Partially because, for all of Victor’s past somber performances, his latest overflowed with everything they lacked— warm and passionate. Yuuri attended two of his performances over the past month, trembling from head to toe and trying his damnedest not to cry. Watching Victor from his television in Hasetsu had been enough to entrance him, to alter the course of his entire life. Seeing Victor in person, just steps away, long limbs like graceful fountain streams, silver hair wild and whipping as the swirling frost… Feeling the gentle, pulsing flow of Victor’s power, the icy flakes of his element on his cheeks when they brushed the stands… Words failed him. Watching Victor was standing in the presence of the Goddess herself, his knees weak, hands clasped, powerless in her rapture.

Victor smiled at him before the start of each performance and looked to him first after every finish. Perhaps it was a childish fantasy, but Yuuri sensed an invisible but certain string that bonded them, that allowed him to feel the effects of Victor’s performances more strongly than anyone else. He began to wonder if Victor presented them, similar to his own Eros, as an offering. A gift for Yuuri.

He could only justify the theory with the disgusted looks Yuri shot him from across the stands, the unreadable expression Chris held when he glanced at him every so often from his station near the entrance and— lest something was stuck in his best friend’s eye— Phichit’s winking. These were joined by an onslaught of derisive gazes from strangers, nobles, journalists and townspeople alike— Victor’s many admirers. Perhaps the attention should have disturbed him but it only served to elate, his cheeks aching from smiling, tears threatening to overflow. Was Victor really dancing for him?

Perhaps that’s what gave him the courage for his second— and most memorable— news interview in the capitol.

He stood among the rush and bustle of the palace’s main hall once again, dressed up in a sleek black suit that Victor— displeased with his first choice— insisted on picking out for him. Celestino and Elder Feltsman stood on either side of the three chosen, Victor at the center, his hand planted on Yuuri's shoulder. It made all the difference.

The session began with ease, save for a few snarky, but amusing insults Yuri hurled at nosy reporters. Elder Feltsman flew into damage control mode, blatantly resisting the urge to throttle the boy. The panel tossed Yuuri softballs, asking about his training progress and when he would make a public performance himself.

“Well,” he started with a polite smile, swallowing to wet his throat. “We’re still discussing it at the moment. But hopefully soon!”

“Katsuki.” She stepped forward and Yuuri recognized her immediately, blood red lips, her straight dark bangs falling like curtains over her pale face. Isabella Yang, he’d learned. “If my sources are correct, your element still hasn’t returned?”

He froze. What sources? He had never admitted this openly.

“How are you planning on protecting the shrine when you can’t even summon ice?” She cocked her head tot he side.

Yuuri drew in a deep breath, his fists clenching. Yuri swiveled to face him, not with the smugness he'd expected, but burning curiosity. A moment passed and he felt the material of Victor’s grey suit jacket brushing over his shoulder. Celestino leaned in as well. They were going to speak for him. Yuuri shook his head. Reaching forward, he snatched the mic from the stand.

“It’s true,” he spoke in a low, tense tone and gasps rose from the audience. “I haven’t been able to use my magic because of an accident in my childhood.” He took a deep breath as the chattering within the crowd multiplied. “It hasn’t been easy. It’s been challenging for everyone…”

“Yuuri…” Victor frowned, but Yuuri ignored him, facing the woman directly, fingers biting into the plastic of his mic.

“But it’s temporary! I’ve more than proved that the Goddess’s power is strong within me. You’ve all seen it. And I’ve been practicing with Victor and getting stronger and stronger everyday.” He took Victor by the hand and raised it high. “So with Victor’s help, I’ll find my magic again! I’ll become the next Primaja!”

“WHAT?!” Yuri roared.

“And I’ll show everyone!” Yuuri was yelling now, his voice loud and unfamiliar even to him. “At my first public debut!”

With that, he attempted to place the mic back on the stand, but his trembling fingers missed it by inches and it tumbled to the ground. He froze, flustered, and the audience he’d just summoned mistook it for a mic drop. They began applauding and chanting his name.

One part of Yuuri felt relieved and vindicated. Contrarily, the dreaded sensation of doubt rose up in his stomach as cries of “KATSUKI!” and “YUURI!” rumbled across the lobby to a shamefaced Yang’s chagrin. But when he turned to Victor, the dreaded feeling vanished into the bow of his smile and the soft flush on his cheeks.

The remainder of the month was fairly peaceful. After investigating, Celestino assured him that there were no secret cover ups of fire folk abuse besides Elder Baranovskaya and her guard’s occasional cruelty. Unfortunately, he’d heard nothing of Emil. The entire rebel situation still left him anxious and he welcomed the many distractions. Mila and her fireborn friend from the conservatory, Twila, joined he and Phichit for evenings by the pool or sledding. He spoke with his mother and Yuko often, more comfortable detailing the goings-ons of life in the capitol now that it had taken an upswing. Minako bounced in and out of the capitol, rambling to Yuuri about Andrez, often peppering the conversation with far too much information. His capitol life finally seemed to reach a steady pace. For now anyway.

“You expect the Goddess to accept this sorry excuse for Orge?!” Elder Feltsman’s growling voice grated against his ears again and he snapped out of his thoughts mid-dance, clawing his hands and tensing his features.

“Orge is already such a graceless dance,” Elder Baranovskaya commented in distaste. “Certainly the most ugly of the sacred.”

Victor had told him the two elders had a whirlwind relationship in the past. Yuuri couldn’t imagine a more fitting couple. He stifled a grin and immediately kicked himself mentally. No. He had to be angry. Orge. Think Yurio, he told himself. Like Yurio. The thought only made him want to laugh more.

“The boy’s Orge is hopeless,” Feltsman grumbled, adjusting his brown felt hat as he neared the partition. “It’s hard to believe he’s being ‘coached’.”

“I think you have enough Orge for both of you, Yakov,” Victor’s light, bubbly tone rose from the edge of the rink. “Why don’t you take Yuuri’s place and go dance at the shrine instead?”

Yakov grunted in Victor’s direction, but said nothing.

Sighing, Yuuri abandoned his Orge momentarily. He needed a muse. Something inciting. Rage inspiring. He focused on the largest pine on the grounds, the wind whistling through its thistles, and his eyes lit up. Perfect. He pictured Victor that day, cold and unmoving. Stubborn eyes wandering.

Yuuri nodded. He just needed one more push to solidify the emotion. He skated toward the perimeter of the rink, toward Victor. The Primaja prattled on to Feltsman as he neared, his smile moving to be sure, but it wasn’t what Yuuri needed. Wrenching him down by the thin, black material of his t-shirt collar, he pulled him in close over the partition, watching as the smile deflated on his lips.

“Don’t take your eyes off me,” he grunted, their foreheads bumping together so abruptly that it hurt.

Victor only nodded, no longer smiling, brows creased as he rubbed at his forehead. Yuuri took to the ice again, performing Orge with a renewed vigor, snow whirling up from the ground and circling in mini wind funnels all-around them. Elder Feltsman did not critique him for the duration of his performance, more concerned with keeping his hat on his head. Even Elder Baranovskaya’s usual disdain melted away, the wrinkles on her brow and around her lips softening. When Yuuri finished he skated back toward them and bowed in apology.

“Sorry!” He stopped just before Victor, placing his fingers against the man's forehead and massaging gently. “I just needed something to go off of.”

“I see.” Victor’s eyes lowered to the top of the partition.

“Eh…” Yuuri scratched the back of his neck. “Victor—”

“You say mean things about my forehead and then you bump it?” he pouted.

“I— I don’t even remember saying that!” Yuuri retorted honestly. How many times was Victor going to bring his drunken rambling up?

“It’s alright.” Victor wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him in close. “You can make it up to me later.”

“Hey!” he cried, pressing his fingers into Victor's shoulders. What if the elders saw? He already had a reputation to disprove! “Make it up how?!”

“When we go to Hasetsu,” Victor whispered into his ear in a soft, husky voice that made Yuuri’s breath hitch in his throat.  
“… I want to see all of your baby pictures!” he gushed, the allure evaporating to make way for pure, unbridled excitement.

“Victor…” Yuuri scolded, but he couldn’t help the smile from creeping at the edges of his lips.

“I hope the two of you are talking about improving his form,” Elder Feltsman stepped up behind Victor, Elder Baranovskaya at his side, and Yuuri wrestled out of his hold.

“I think his form is perfect.” The words seemed innocent enough, but the way Victor looked at him while he said it made Yuuri’s cheeks flush pink.

“Well…” he started, averting his gaze away from Victor and turning to the elders to salvage whatever fragments of their esteem that he could. “We’ve been planning a trip! For Victor’s retirement.”

If anything, their scowls deepened and Yuuri gulped.

“Er…”

“Yuuri promised to take me to Hasetsu in the Eastlands!” Victor cut in, draping his arms around Yuuri’s neck again, eying the elders all the while. “Isn’t that sweet?”

Baranovskaya scoffed. Feltsman shook his head. “Just as selfish as ever, Vitya.”

Victor’s lips tugged downward for a few moments, gaze hardening. After a bout a silence, he perked up again. “Come on, Yuuri!” He guided him along the perimeter across the partition until they reached an opening where he could step through. “Let’s go get something to eat!”

“Um… Victor?” Yuuri asked as the Primaja practically forced his skate guards on, dizzied by the contrast between the elders’ disapproving leers and Victor’s upbeat— albeit forced— cheer.

“What do you feel like eating, Yuuri?” he asked in an almost pleading fashion. He wanted to change the subject. Again.

Yuuri sighed defeatedly, crossing his arms as he muttered in the most reluctant voice he could muster, “I dunno. Southland cuisine?”  
 

* * *

 

Yuuri sighed to himself as he stepped out of the shower, running a towel through his dripping black bangs. After drying off, he wrapped the towel around himself and stared at his reflection across the way. It peered out at him from the stained glass walls with a creased brow and a downturned lip. Despite everything going right lately, he seemed to wear this expression often.

He leaned over the countertop, fingertips pushing into the white stone. Why had the elders reacted that way? Did they not trust him? He knew Lady Baranovskaya hated the Eastlands…

There were still so many things he didn't understand, things everyone seemed reluctant to explain, least of all whatever drove a wedge between he and Victor in the first place…

_Soon. I promise._

Yuuri notice his jaw tightening under the sheen of water covering his face. When was ‘soon’? How much longer would he have to wait?

“You arranged it already?” he heard Victor asking from outside the room. A phone call.

“Just the two,” he went on and and Yuuri couldn’t help but strain his ears to pick up the conversation, unconsciously leaning closer to the door.

“Are you sure you can trust them?” Victor asked and then after a long pause, “I guess you’re right. Okay. Take care.”

Silence and then a soft hissing started outside of the door, brushing against the wood. Yuuri flinched. A low whining sound followed it and he sighed in relief.

“Yuuri!” A second whine. “Makkachin wants you to come out! I think she likes you more than me now!”

“Coming!” he called, grabbing an old, black concert t-shirt from a wild night with Phichit in the Southlands and a pair of slacks from the counter. He tugged them on quickly and exited the bathroom, nearly stumbling over Makkachin in the doorway. She barked happily, circling his legs and cuddling against him.

“Hey girl.” He laughed, bending down to pat at her head. “I was only in there for fifteen minutes.”

He’d been hesitant at first to even touch the soft, brown fur of her coat, the fabric of his nightmares threatening to rise up and entangle her. But with time and all of the new, considerably less devastating, memories he’d created— of feeding her his breakfasts, walking with her on the grounds, being rushed out of the shower— eased his fears.

“Traitor.” Victor leveled the insult at Makkachin, who simply went on cuddling Yuuri obliviously. Yuuri looked up with a teasing shrug to see him lying across the bed in his own casual wear, flooded in the aurora of colors that graced the secret suite from the mosaic above. The outline of the twinkling city below shone through the far window, glassy rooftops glittering, the shrine’s tendrils rising high in the distance. More and more, Yuuri found himself sneaking here for short moments in search of that solitude he so desperately craved since arriving in the capitol. That’s what Victor had always done and, lucky for him, he didn’t seem to mind sharing.

Surprisingly, neither did Yuuri.

Soft buzzing from a speaker filled the room and Yuuri seized, recognizing the audio instantly.

“And I’ll show everyone!” the impassioned voice cried from Victor’s phone. “At my public debut!”

A news reporter went on to talk over the recording and Yuuri groaned, plopping onto the foot of the bed and leaning forward into his lap, face in his palms.

“I should have never made a promise like that.” He ran his hands backward over his forehead and into his hair, pulling the skin taut. Makkachin nudged at his trembling knees. “What if I can’t back it up?”

“Yuuri.” Victor’s laughter trickled into his ear and he felt strong arms pulling him close from behind, the tickle of long, silver tresses falling over his cheek. “You worry too much.”

The slow, steady hum calmed him and he leaned back, unconsciously relaxing into it, eyes shutting.

“Who were you talking to?” he murmured, the feeling of lightness overwhelming him, propelling him from the ground.

“Hm?”

“On the phone?” Yuuri’s eyelids parted slightly, the weightless feeling subsiding.

“Oh!” Victor’s eyes widened. “I was making preparations for my next Quarter Ball Exhibition!”

The next Quarter Ball steadily approached and they’d been working on his own choreography, based on Eros, but he’d seen little of Victor’s. “You haven’t shown me yet.” Yuuri frowned.

“I want to surprise you,” Victor teased, nesting his cheek against Yuuri’s head and the room went silent again, save for the outside wind and the buzz of the news program in the background.

Yuuri supposed it was a bit strange, this routine they’d established. Hiding away from the rest of the palace, letting the time drift by like this, hour after hour. Sometimes they scrolled through their phones silently while holding hands. Other times, they chatted away about the day, their legs brushing against one another. Sometimes Victor combed his hair or Yuuri threaded his fingers through the lengthy pale tresses, braiding and unbraiding them. Others, Yuuri read and Victor scribbled choreography notes on a tablet. But regardless of the activity, they always seemed to touch before long, savoring the sweet rush it gave them— soothing at its mildest and electrifying at peak.

Were all Primaja and their proteges like this? Victor and Yuri certainly didn’t seem to be. He made a face. That would be weird. So then… He parted his eyelids completely, staring up at Victor. Why did this feel natural as the air in his lungs?

“What is it?” Victor murmured into his hair.

Yuuri reached down, grasping Victor by the hand and raised it up, tangling their fingers together. As expected, the hum started there too, vibrating, soft and warm, wherever the skin touched. “What is this?” he asked for the second time since they’d met. “I know you feel it too.”

Victor stared at their joined hands, expression thoughtful. “I don’t know.” He finally shrugged. “I’m guessing it has something to do with your power.”

“But it doesn’t happen with anyone else,” Yuuri said. “Not even Yurio.”

“Then maybe…” Victor’s brow furrowed, eyes serious, and Yuuri gulped. He raised an index finger, a smile breaking out over his lips. “We’re soulmates!”

He sighed in exasperation. “Victor…”

“Victor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri,” the news reporter’s vibrant voice suddenly called their attention to Victor’s phone again, left abandoned in the sheets. “Is there romance brewing between the Goddess’s chosen?”

Yuuri went beet red, sinking away from Victor and seeping onto the pillows. Makkachin crawled onto the bed and sidled up beside him, poking her nose into the crook of his neck, and he absentmindedly drew her in. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the rumor mill. Thousands of strangers speculating on his relationship. With Victor. The Primaja liked to tease, but they were only coach and student. He was certain Victor found the idea laughable…

As if on cue, Victor chuckled airily behind him and he flinched at the confirmation. “Maybe I should take you to the Quarter Ball to really stir things up?”

“Heh.” Yuuri uttered, squeezing Makkachin closer.

Mercifully the newscast passed quickly, the focus returning to the promise he’d made at his last interview and his impending calling. He took it as an excuse to change the subject.

“How will I know?” he asked. “When the Goddess calls me?”

Callings signified the end of one Primaja’s tenure and the start of the next. He hadn’t approached the subject much with Victor, worried that it would be a sore spot for him.

“You’ll know,” Victor said, lowering onto the sheets beside Yuuri, gaze drifting up at the mosaic. “When I heard her calling me, I knew I had to dance. I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t think about anything else.” He averted his gaze to Yuuri, staring pointedly. “It possesses you.”

Yuuri’s eyes grew, but he nodded. ”I…” He remembered his awakening, the destruction at the ice rink, even his practices at times. How his movements didn’t always feel like his own. “I understand.”

“The pull starts after your awakening,” Victor explained as though reading his mind. “But after my calling, I could walk to the shrine in my sleep. Dance on broken ankles.” Laughter came from his lips again, but this time it oozed, low and reluctant.  “You can’t resist it,” he sighed. “No one can.”

“I see…” Yuuri drew in a deep breath. Is that how he would feel once she called? Like a puppet on a string, dancing at the Goddess’s whims? He shook his head. Puppet or not, this was important work. He had to do this. To keep the Fire God and his plans for a nightmarish hell imprisoned, to protect Hasetsu and the world.

“You’re close,” Victor said, the ghost of a grin on his lips, and Yuuri gasped. “I can tell.”

“Wow.” He swallowed hard, running his fingers over Victor’s for comfort and relaxing as the hum coursed through him. He chuckled. “Yurio’s gonna kill me.”

Ever since Yuuri conquered Eros before Yuri found his Agape, Yuri began practicing nonstop. He discovered his Agape not long after. As congratulations, Victor offered to help him learn Lupe next instead of Eros. Yuri raged for ten days, practicing nothing but Orge and then preceding to practice Eros repeatedly behind his coach’s back.

“Yurio won’t admit it but he’s benefited a lot from you being here.”

Yuuri nearly scoffed. Somehow, he doubted that.

Victor smiled. “You know he finally asked me to teach him Lupe the other day after he saw you performing it.”

Yuuri gasped, turning on his side toward Victor. Makkachin whined at the loss. “He what?!”

“I think you have a secret admirer,” he laughed. “You’re probably closer than he is. But don’t tell him I said that. He already thinks I favor you.”

 _Do you favor me?_ Yuuri thought, thumbing absentmindedly over Victor’s hand. Instead he asked, “What if we’re called at the same time? What usually happens then?”

Victor shrugged. “It’s never been so close. Primaja are usually at least in the middle of their tenure before another awakens.”

“Ah…” Yuuri nodded. There was a first time for everything… He imagined he and Yuri sharing the tribute at the shrine every quarter— which proved quite difficult because Yuri rarely shared anything. If he even so much as danced an inch into Yuri’s space, the entire thing could devolve into an ice war of grand proportions. On sacred ground. He swallowed hard.

“Have you felt your magic returning at all?”

The question caught him off guard. They hadn’t discussed his magic much since he began focusing on the sacred dances and controlling his power. But no. Even after learning five of the six dances, the Goddess hadn’t seen fit to unlock the prison that kept his magic bound. Now the next Quarter Ball loomed less than a month away and he still hadn’t announced his much awaited public debut.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I feel it as much as I always have. But it won’t break through.”

"Why do you think?”

"I dunno." He sighed, avoiding Victor’s eyes on him. “I guess I get anxious. I don’t feel safe.”

“Then,” Victor started, rising from the sheets and scooting closer. “It’s my job to help you feel safe. Give me your hands.” He reached out for them.

“Victor?” Yuuri gave him a questioning look as he pulled himself up, back sliding over the headboard.

“Maybe I can help you remember what it feels like.”

He slipped his fingers into Victor’s and the hum began, followed by a faint pulse. A coolness spread from the center where their palms met and Yuuri gasped as it passed through him, a crisp sting, into the veins and muscles. Into the nameless flow.

“I want you to direct it,” Victor told him and his eyes went wide.

“You want me to… are you sure?” Sharing magic was unorthodox. Deeper than a blood bond, it signified unfailing trust, an act reserved for mothers and their children or brothers in arms desperate on the battlefield. For lovers looking for the purest symbol of affection.

“Yes.” Victor nodded with an encouraging grin.

“B— But Makkachin—” Yuuri started to turn toward the dog with fearful eyes, but Victor gripped his hands, willing him back to center.

“Shhh.” Victor massaged lightly at his hands. “It’s just you and me.”

“Right.” Yuuri nodded, attempting to keep the tremor in his hands at bay.

Victor moved in closer, dipping down to catch Yuuri’s gaze and Yuuri assuaged, staring into the gentle blue.

“Don’t take your eyes off me?” he teased and a wobbly smile curved over Yuuri’s lips.

He took a deep breath before his first attempt, a thousand thoughts flooding his mind. What if it didn’t work— if he couldn’t even command another’s magic? What if his power slipped through? What if he hurt Victor?

“Yuuri.” Victor nodded at him, eyes fearless, his magic literally in Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri bit his lip, brow creasing. If Victor could be so brave, vulnerable, in the face of uncertainty then who was he to play a coward? He could do this.

With a strong nod and firm hands, he summoned for the element, the same way he always did when alone, visualizing it pooling at his center and praying desperately. Nothing usually came of it. But right now, he wasn’t alone.

They both gasped as sparkling white mist evaporated from the the center of their palms, swelling into a great glittering cloud around them, filling the room.

Yuuri nearly pulled away, his breath catching, but Victor kept his hands firm.

“Wait.” He pulled him close. ‘Yuuri, it’s you. You control it.”

Yuuri nodded, struggling not to hyperventilate. He waited a bit, watching the swirling mist as it blew through the room, tilting lampshades and knocking books from shelves. Makkachin sniffed at the frost funnel and Yuuri immediately willed it away from her, toward the front of the room.

“See?” Victor smiled, wide and cheerful and Yuuri’s wobbly grin returned. He sent the glittering cloud left. And then right. Then he pooled it into a pancake on the ceiling. Slow, quivering laughter began to crack from his lips, his shoulders rocking.

“You used to make rings, right?” Victor squeezed. “Try it.”

Yuuri nodded, watching as the mist split at the core, a fast spinning circle above. It moved over the ceiling to the center of the mosaic, the colors catching in the bits of frost and reflecting sparkling hues of ruby, gold and sapphire down on them.

“Yuuri!” Victor cheered. “It’s amazing!”

He could only gape at the ring, the closest thing to a rainbow he’d ever seen. He caught Makkachin moving near the circle and he tensed up immediately, a pang of panic searing through him like a hot blade, the red hues of the mosaic suddenly more prominent than the rest, flashing flame before his eyes. He jerked back and the spell broke instantly, sparkling ice gems falling overhead like snow. A few bits fell into Yuuri’s hair and he sank back into himself, knees pulled into his chest.

Victor reached for him with a hesitant hand.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri whispered, breathing evening out. “Sorry.” He lowered his head, his shoulders trembling with something besides fear. “I just…”

“What are you apologizing for?” Victor asked, sweeping the flecks of ice from the bedspread. “Yuuri, you did it.”

“With your help,” he said, his features twitching and then crumbling. “Thank you.” He reached up to cover his face, wiping his palms over the tears as they fell. “That was the closest I’ve ever gotten.”

They sat in silence for a while with Victor holding him while he settled against his chest, nose red. He felt childish and needy, but Victor didn’t seem to mind.

“I want to schedule my debut,” he finally said, his voice still thick with tears. “Next month.”

Victor smiled down at him. “How about at the Exhibition?!”

Yuuri paled. “The Quarter Ball?! That’s in two weeks!”

“I have faith in you.” Victor winked into his steadily crumbling resolve.

“What if my magic’s not back by then?”

“Then we’ll improvise and surprise them with something else!” Victor said, matter of factly. “It might not be what they expect but when did the expected ever thrill anyone?”

“Huh…” Yuuri uttered, at a loss for words. It was a good point. “Alright.” A grin curved over his lips. “Let’s try again.”

Victor’s mouth fell open. "Right now?”

Yuuri nodded resolutely, pushing his hair back and wiping the remaining wetness from his face. “I have to if I’m going to be ready in two weeks.” He righted himself and extended his hands, grinning when he caught the Primaja’s bemused expression. “You’re not tired already?”


	16. The Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble at the Quarter Ball. Yuuri receives a warning from a reputable source and begins to doubt that his mentor is what he pretends to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I'm a busy lady. PLUS I edited the last 5 chapters heavily, starting at The Return. You don't have to reread it. I just really hated it so I had to do something about it.  
> The drama returns this chapter. And it aint gonna stop till the fat lady sings! (The fat lady is me).

“Katsuki Yuuri!” The emcee’s voice carried over the familiar ballroom at the crest of the palace and Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat. He willed his feet to move and they started down the velvet steps, deep dark robes embroidered in silver trailing after him. He dipped his head forward and instantly missed his bangs, regretting the decision to mousse his hair back. Mila and Georgi had insisted on adding eyeliner and shadow to better accentuate his Exhibition routine and he was 102 percent sure he looked absolutely ridiculous. Fortunately, the crowd didn’t seem to agree as they stared in stunned silence, some bowing in respect. Yuuri nearly blushed, raising a hand to wave at the sea of well preened nobles, politicians and other capitol VIPs.

“Katsuki!” Reporters tripped over their own robes to crowd the base of the stairs, vying for a shot of him. Admirers of all ages and sexes followed closely behind with outstretched arms.

“Wow...” Yuuri managed, fighting his instinct to veer toward the thick columns that lined the perimeter of the room and hide in the darkest corner.

 _Victor Nikiforov is always nice to his fans_ , He remembered Minako’s scolding when he felt less than social after shows.

“Th— thank you all for coming!” he tried again with a smile.

His audience went wild at this, their hands grasping more fiercely toward him. He stepped back instinctually and threw a glance over his shoulder to see Phichit and Michele shooting warning looks into the crowd. Yuuri drew in a deep breath. He would never get used to this.

“Did you find your magic, Lord Katsuki?!” a moustached press member asked.

His heart skipped a beat. “Um…”

“He’s so beautiful!” a young woman in lavender robes squealed, a group of girls behind her nearly swooning.

“Will you sign my robes, Lord Katsuki?!”

“Yuuri!” A single voice drowned out the rest, filling his ears and pulling him toward it.

“Victor Nikiforov!” The crowd spotted the Primaja and stepped away, creating an island for Victor onto his own. White robes spilled around him as he walked, gold twisting across the silk in branch-like patterns, lacing the flowing sleeves and skirts. He smiled and took Yuuri by the hand, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss against his fingers. Yuuri flushed, the crowd’s joined gasping and shrieking a low buzz in his ears, the onslaught of camera flashes mere blips.

“Katsuki!” someone called desperately. “Would you say the two of you are close?!”

“Nikiforov! How long has this been going on?!”

Behind the reporters, Yuuri noticed several more disdainful glimpses from women and men alike, highborn and low. One of the young women from the group before wept openly. He blinked in disbelief. Had he ever been this insane as a fan?

Victor tilted his head and winked at the crowd. “I don’t kiss and tell!” he shrugged, guiding a stunned Yuuri away. “Stay tuned for our Exhibition shows!”

They started away from the staircase landing and deeper into the ballroom where the swarm of people only thickened. Still, there were considerably less fanatics and reporters.

“Victor,” he scolded lowly, mindful of the elites’ watchful eyes piercing them from every angle.

“Yuuri,” Victor teased into his ear and he wrestled to keep his expression, at the very least, blank for the score of onlookers, muscles tense. Victor’s smile sobered.

“What’s wrong?” He squeezed at Yuuri’s shoulder and the steadying hum manifested there. “You’ve been wound up since yesterday.”

Yuuri sighed, shaking his head. He could feel Victor’s doubtful eyes on him, but he simply stared off into the distance, at the garland and light draped pillars and the glistening crystal chandeliers overhead. At the band staring worriedly at him from the second landing as if dreading an impromptu dance-off that could break out at any moment, their fingers fumbling over their instruments. “It’s nothing,” he said.

It wasn’t “nothing”. This was it. Yuuri’s big reveal. His public debut. The Exhibition would begin in just a few short hours from now. Already, he could feel his legs melting into muck beneath him, arms trembling noodles and Victor… Victor was fueling tabloid fire for his own amusement.

More concerning than anything perhaps was the fact that his magic hadn’t returned. Not even after days— weeks— spent practicing with Victor until they both panted from exertion, their eyes dull and glazed from the combined mental and physical exertion magic and its manipulation called for.

In the end, they’d decided on another method to surprise and awe his audience with. But Yuuri wasn’t satisfied. He needed something else. Something more…

“Maybe we can find somewhere to work on choreo—” he started through the lump in his throat when Victor’s mouth broke out into a wide grin, his hand raising.

“Chris!” he called to the guard and Yuuri looked up to see Chris starting toward them, dressed in robes of black and emerald green, the material pulled taut over his broad chest. Minako accompanied him, draped like a curtain over his shoulder, a sultry grin on her lips. Yuuri sighed. He really needed to focus on his routine right now…

“Yuuri!” Minako was soon upon him, fussing over his robes and dishing on her latest adventure. He noticed Chris leaning into Victor out of the corner of his eye.

“Gold’s never looked better on you,” Chris purred, giving him a slow once over. “I think you’ve outdone yourself this time, gorgeous.”

“You think so?” Victor asked in an equally sultry voice, running his fingers through long silver locks and trailing them down his neck.

Yuuri didn’t think his own expression could sour more.

“Yuuri,” Minako started in a sharp voice. “Fix your face.”

Yuuri immediately acquiesced and the grimace straightening itself out, but his brow still creased. What was wrong with him? Victor and Chris had been friends for years. Far before he entered the picture. And they always teased like this. Why should it bother him?

Chris and Victor’s tones lowered to hushed exchanges and Yuuri decided he’d much rather focus elsewhere so he turned to see a pout fixed on Minako’s lips as she surveyed the two, arms folded over her crimson robes. “He’s forgotten all about me.”

“Hypocrite,” Yuuri accused with a vague grin. Something else occurred to him and he frowned. “What happened to Andrez?”

Minako’s eyes went wide. “What?” She looked from side to side. “Do you see him?!”

He sighed at his teacher. Okukawa Minako: Rebel Primaja and heartbreaker.

“We’re just taking a break.” She waved the subject off before staring at him, eyes intense. He blinked at her expectantly and bit his lip when she didn’t speak.

“What?”

“You’re freaking out about your Exhibition tonight, aren’t you?”

His shoulders stiffened. He wanted to deny it, to roll his eyes at her and shrug it off. But this was Minako and she knew him better than most. “Is it that obvious?” he admitted, bringing his arms in and squeezing at the dark, satiny material of his sleeves.

“You’ll be amazing, Yuuri.” Her lips curved into a rare soft smile, the gentleness entering her voice that she often reserved for small children and attractive men. “You are _my_ student after all.”

“Minako,” he groaned, cheeks flushing and she reached out to brush a strand of wayward hair from his eyes.

“Hey.” She took him by the hand and stared at it. “I’m going to be heading somewhere soon and depending on how things go, I might be stuck there for a while,” she said, her voice mellowing. “Promise you’ll come visit me, okay?”

“Hm?” he frowned. She hadn’t asked him to come along or visit on one of her adventures in years. He smiled nonetheless, nodding. “Sure.”

“Don’t forget!” She winked. “I’m gonna get some champagne. Want anything?” she taunted and he responded with a scowl.

He watched as she disappeared into the throng of chattering partygoers when silver and blue obscured his vision. Victor leaned in front of him with curious eyes and Yuuri flinched.

“Yuuri?” He moved to steady him. “Do you need a drink?”

Before the Exhibition? “No,” he responded, trying to keep the irritated edge from his tone.

“What were you going to say before—?”

“Vitya!” They looked up to see Elder Feltsman standing before them, the usual scowl on his lips. “I need to talk to you.”

“Of course Yakov,” Victor nodded with a grin. “I’ll be right back, Yuuri.”

“Okay,” Yuuri nodded, unable to hide his disappointment as yet another person whisked Victor away. He marveled for the dozenth time at how the Primaja remained wholly unaffected by Feltsman’s permanent bad mood, smiling as he took the older man by the arm to escort him toward the ballroom’s edge where sprawling balconies and windows opened into the starry night.

“Popular, isn't he?” A deep voice rumbled in his ear and Yuuri flinched again, nearly ramming his elbow into Chris’s chest. “Chris!”

“There one minute. Gone the next.” Chris said, an amused smile on his features as he studied Yuuri. He held a glass in both hands, pink tinged bubbly liquid in each. “Champagne?”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, downing a third of the first in one gulp. They stared out into the bustling crowd in silence and Yuuri’s thoughts settled back onto his choreography. Onto the new plan. He studied the walls, from the windows to the chandeliers . He couldn’t mess this up. It had to be perfect.

“Any closer to finding your magic?” Chris asked.

Yuuri drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, the ballroom and the wealth of preening capitol nobles, politicians and celebrities vanishing for one beautiful instant.

“No luck.”

“Nothing at all?” Chris turned his attention completely to Yuuri and he suddenly felt strange facing off in the other direction. He willed himself to face Chris and fought not to wince under his scrutinizing expression, strangely still and penetrating, searching.

“No,” he managed.

“Funny,” he went on, features unchanging. “Even after Victor shared his magic with you.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. “Victor told you that?”

“There isn’t much he doesn’t tell me,” he said, the detached look in his eyes not quite catching up with the smile lines forming around his mouth.

Yuuri always thought it strange. Christophe Giacometti, the ever smirking comic with a jovial disposition and a twinkle in his eye. A military Captain. For the first time, he thought he could see it.

Yuuri wet his tongue, feeling it going dry, when Chris turned away, the smile completely overtaking his features now.

“Enjoy the ball, Yuuri.”

Yuuri simply nodded, his mind rewinding over the exchange, playing it again.

“Emil is fine by the way.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“The one you kept asking about?” Chris returned with a smirk. “He’s fine. So don’t guilt yourself too much?”

Yuuri blinked after him. He’d only ever asked Phichit about the “non-elemental they’d captured the other week”. Never by name and certainly never with the suggestion that he might feel guilty. Why would Chris know any of that?! He heard his breathing in his chest, felt sweat breaking on his brow. His feet stood on shaky, crumbling ground and his surroundings seemed to darken around him, shrouding and isolating. A feeling he hadn’t experienced in months now. 

“Lonely without your coach, Lord Katsuki?”

Yuuri blinked out of the haze creeping over his vision, racing thoughts slowing. He looked up to see General Lee staring back at him with a disapproving scowl. “It’s pathetic how the two of you’ve been hanging all over eachother lately. It’s unnatural for two Primaja to—”

“Enough Seung-gil,” Elder Baranovskaya appeared at his side and he silenced instantly, his lips tight. Lilia turned to stare down her nose at him, gaze discerning as an eagle’s, her dark fur robes held tight over her shoulders. “Katsuki.”

“E— Elder Baranovskaya.” He bowed, nearly tipping over, hoping for a quick opportunity to excuse himself. He needed to clear his mind somewhere quiet. He couldn’t handle all of this and manage to dance perfectly in just hours. He needed a safe space. A safe space.

“Follow me.” She demanded with no room for argument.

He let them lead him across the ballroom, not bothering to hide the worried glint in his eyes from a number of confused ball patrons as they neared a lone balcony. He and the elder walked out into the night and he stopped at the center of the white marble landing, certain that flirting with the ledge would only worsen his already frayed nerves. His heart lurched as Seung-gil shut the glass doors behind them and Lady Baranovskaya advanced on him, her gaze dark.

He raised his hands. “I— If this is about last time, I swear I haven’t had a drop—”

“Victor isn’t trying to help you,” she said, shaking her head. “What he’s planning is dangerous and treasonous. A betrayal.”

The white in Yuuri’s eyes expanded, pupils shrinking in. He felt heavy suddenly, too heavy to stand. He caught the back of a stone bench for support. “What?”

“And you’ll be the one to suffer for it.” She sighed. “Yakov is entirely too soft on him. He’s been putting the kingdom at risk from day one.”

“I— I don’t understand.”

She sucked in her teeth, grimacing down on him with cold eyes. “Play foolish all you like, Katsuki Yuuri. Just know that if you leave Glacilis or exhibit any suspicious activity, there will be consequences.” Her eyes narrowed. “We’re having platoons stationed near your family home. In the event of treason, they will be taken into custody—”

“My family?!” he snapped, his mouth moving before his brain could catch up. “What does my family have to do with anything?! Why would I leave?! Or…” he swallowed to calm the quiver in his voice. “… be suspicious?”

“If you behave as usual, you have nothing to worry about,” she said, folding her hands in front of her, regal and stately. “This is simply a warning.”

Yuuri shook his head, thoughts dim and hazy. This didn't seem right. He needed someone who could make sense of it. Someone he trusted. “C— Celestino…”

“Celestino suggested I speak with you." She nodded over his shoulder and he turned to see the older man watching them through the glass doors. Caught, he immediately turned back to his company, smiling and lifting his wine glass. Yuuri's stomach sank.

"The entire council agreed it needed to be done. Why do you think Yakov is distracting Victor now?"

"Th- They sent you..." Yuuri stammered.

"They sent me," she sighed, plainly disdainful of the phrasing. “Men's hearts are so weak. They can't handle anything remotely trying."

The blood ran cold in Yuuri’s veins. "My family-"

"Will be fine so long as you are loyal to the Goddess," she finished for him.

"A- Always..."

"Then your issue isn't with me or the rest of the council." She stepped away, leaving him numb, ringing in his ears. "A mentor's role has its limits. It's important to know where to draw the line. Do you understand?"

Speechless, he listened to the click of her heels as she returned to the ballroom, the icy chill of winter stinging at his skin.

“And Katsuki?”

He willed himself to turn to her, joints moving like rusted metal.

“I’ll be keeping my eyes on you,” she said, staring at him from over her shoulder. “All of them.” With that, she stepped through the glass doors leaving only Seung-gil’s vacant gaze and the frantic knocking in his chest.

* * *

 

Victor and Phichit stood beside a row of refreshment tables at the rear of the ballroom, speaking casually over a plate of hors d'oeuvres. Yuuri eyed them through a haze, still dizzying and thick with no signs of diminishing.

"What are you guys up to?" he asked upon reaching them, his own voice odd on his ears. Victor’s smile fell a fraction and Phichit’s gaze dropped to the ground, avoidant. Yuuri frowned. _You too, Phichit?_ How many secrets could one palace keep?

“I didn’t know you two were so close.” The words escaped his lips before he could bite them.

Phichit’s eyes widened and Victor’s narrowed.

“Yuuri?” Victor closed the space between them, catching him by the arms. Even with the gentle hum, Yuuri seized at the touch. Victor attempted to ease him in closer and he refused to oblige. “Do you need to go somewhere quiet?”

“No,” he replied in the most controlled tone he could manage, avoiding his eyes. If he got Victor alone, all of his questions would spill out before he could contain them. He wouldn’t be able to piece himself back together before the Exhibition. Best to play it cool. As cool as he could manage anyway. “I’m fine.”

Victor pulled back and he could feel the blue eyes on him for long while. His own roved over the stone floors, features tense.

“Yuuri,” Phichit started, nervous laughter in his voice. “Maybe you need a drink.”

Yuuri looked him in the eye. “I’m not drinking tonight,” he said with enough finality to silence his best friend. Why did everyone think that joke was so funny? Maybe he just didn’t get it? Maybe he was the joke and they were all laughing at him in the shadows, at his failure to grasp the secrets they hid, at his misplaced trust. His breathing shallowed, hands clutching one another.

“Um, okay…” Phichit backed away, the teasing in his voice withering. “I’ll give you some space?”

Yuuri barely nodded, eyes trained on the ground as Phichit started off. Victor remained silent, but he could almost feel the icy blue piercing his back.

“I should go practice my choreography.”

“Yuuri,” Victor tried again, his tone breathy with a hint of exasperation. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” Yuuri lifted his gaze to see Victor’s brow knitted, eyes glistening with concern, a pout on his bottom lip. Harmless.

Convincing.

_Play foolish all you like, Katsuki Yuuri._

No need to play. He was a fool. And Victor knew it.  
  
He felt his eyes grow warm and immediately closed them. Steeling himself, he turned away, shoes clapping loudly on the marble as he padded toward the darkened columns of the ballroom. “I’ll be back in time for the Exhibition.”

Victor’s hand closed around his arm. “I’ll come with you.”

He yanked his arm away before the energy link could establish itself. “I want to do it alone.”

Victor let the hand waver in the air between them, wide eyes blinking, bewildered. As though he had any right to be.

“Yuuri—” Victor reached for him, nearly running into an older couple drifting between them. He bowed in apology and they whispered hushed praises at him, squeezing his hands and kissing his cheeks. “We need to talk,” he spoke lowly as the couple shuffled away, waving at the two.

“Why don’t you talk to Chris?” Yuuri forced through a polite grin designed for the couple, the passive aggression thick even on his ears. He began to see how easily Victor could don a mask in this carnival, all tricks and illusions. “You tell him everything, right?”

Victor’s brow furrowed, the rounded blue narrowing and freezing over and Yuuri felt a strange blend of unnerved and vindicated. There it was…

“Did someone say something to you?”

Yuuri paused, his throat tight. “Why?” His voice quivered. “Is there something you don’t want me to hear?”

As expected, Victor went speechless, gaze conflicted and avoiding. The usual.

A dark chuckle shuddered out of Yuuri, his fists clenching. “I figured.” He could feel the pressure building in his chest, in his throat and then his eyes. He shut them, fighting ardently against it. He couldn’t cry. Not now.

A sigh from Victor. “Let’s go upstairs.”

So you can deflect and make more excuses? Yuuri didn’t think he could bear it. “The Exhibition starts soon,” he replied, his voice low and controlled. For now, he would concentrate on his performance. He turned again, without a second glance at Victor, when a hand reached out and yanked him back. An unexpected surge of rage screamed through him, his power vibrating to the surface.

“I said I wanted to be—!”

“Ow!”

His eyes ballooned and he turned back to see a completely different face staring at him.

“Mila!”

“Ow!” She hissed, shaking her hand about. “How’d you do that, Yuuri? It feels like you shocked me or something.”

“S— Sorry.” He bowed, clenching his robes. “I…” He didn’t know how. Even the Goddess had left him in the dark, he realized with a dry grin.

“Hey pig,” Yuri called from behind her, his charcoal black robes sweeping the grounds. “Stop showing off your creepy occult powers and go torture your _own_ guard.”

Well, at the least, he could always trust Yuri to be honest with him. He’d been up front about his undying hatred from the start.

“Hey Yurio.”

Yuri responded with a snort and rolled his eyes, no longer ranting at the name, but not accepting it either.

“Your Lupe looked great yesterday,” Yuuri went on, the mindless conversation helping to distract him. “Did you integrate it into your Exhibition performance?”

A smug smirk crossed Yuri’s lips, arms folding over his chest. “Whatever I perform, it’ll be a million times better than the horror show you’ve got planned.” He chuckled, nudging Otabek at his side. “You gonna strip again?”

Otabek didn’t respond, simply adjusting his jacket. Yuri scowled.

Victor cleared his throat. “Yurio, shouldn’t you be going over your program?”

“He doesn’t have to leave,” Yuuri retorted with more edge than he meant, averting his gaze so he wouldn’t have to see Victor’s wounded expression.

_I don’t need your protection from a teenage boy._

_I need you to be honest with me._ His fingers curled into fists.

“About an hour till the Exhibition,” Yuri checked his phone, the smug grin still on his lips. “Better start drinking if you even want to approach my level.”

The words laid hot on Yuri’s nerves. That joke again? “I better not.” He shrugged with a taut smile. “I don’t want Chris to have to scrape you off the floor like last time.”

Their small group erupted into a fit of noises, Mila with a howl of surprise and Otabek with a small grunt that sounded suspiciously like stifled laughter. Yuri simmered, a kettle on brew, green eyes going dark. He leaned in to Yuuri on his toes. It reminded him of the first time they’d met.

“I’d watch what I say to me if I were you,” the boy hissed lowly.

“Yuri!” Victor called.

Yuuri’s eyes went wide, expecting Victor to pop up next to him. Instead, he appeared beside the blond, one lengthy arm snaking over his shoulder. “Let’s go get a drink.”

“”Huh?!” Yuri cried as Victor motioned him away from the group and toward the canteen.

“Milk for you, right?”

“Who said I wanted a drink?!” Yuri shot back, dragging his feet.

Victor winked. “They have that glow in the dark lemonade you liked as a kid!”

“No way!” Yuri gushed, falling into step with Victor. “They still make that?!” The two continued toward the canteen near the windows and Yuuri said a silent prayer for their departure. He leaned back against a marble pillar and closed his eyes. It wasn’t like him to play into Yuri’s goading… He had to calm down before something worse happened.

He caught the eye of a waiter hurrying across the floor, a bottle of champagne on his platter. He shot Yuuri a nervous look and sped up, scurrying out of sight. Had the council ordered them not to serve him, he wondered, agitation rising. He noticed Otabek peering from the pillar beside his out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re not going to ask if I wanted a drink?” he murmured.

“Nah.” Otabek shrugged. “Lazy joke.”

"Yeah." Yuuri smiled. “A little.” The silence resumed and Yuuri realized it was the most they’d ever spoken. “What about you?” He turned to give him a sympathetic grin. “It can’t be easy guarding the ‘ice tiger’.”

“Not old enough.”

“Oh, right.”

Otabek stared at him, eyes narrowing. “Can you keep a secret?” He leaned toward him and Yuuri tensed. Someone actually wanted to share a secret with him? That was new. Specifically Otabek who didn’t share much at all.

“Um… sure.” Yuuri agreed, feeling somewhat honored.

“He ah…” Otabek started. “Leaked that name himself. The Ice Tiger." He pulled a chain from his collar, silvery, with the likeness of a fanciful, feminine figure perched at the end. "’Ice Fairy’ was the public’s first choice.”

Yuuri blinked at the ‘secret’ for a second and then began to laugh, quietly at first and then audibly, the tension in his shoulders loosening as they shook. “I guess I’m not surprised,” he finally got out. If anyone was going to take it into their own hands to reinvent themselves as the Ice Tiger of Gracilis, it would be Yuri Plisetsky.

“He’s a lot to deal with. I know that.” Otabek said, letting the chain fall back around his neck. “He’s stubborn. But he’s got every reason to be. And he’s stronger than anyone I know.”

“I see.” Yuuri nodded. “It’s alright. You don’t have to explain.” It was the last thing he thought he’d be saying that night.

Otabek stared at him a while longer, a rare half smile curving over his lips. He nodded in return and a comfortable silence resumed as they watched Yuri and Victor sharing two glasses of green punch on the balcony across the way. Yuri took a selfie of the two of them with the glowing beverage before leaning in to whisper something up at Victor. Victor answered the question quickly and Yuri turned back to glance at Yuuri for barely a second. The look was alien coming from Yuri, all the layers of disdain and mocking stripped away leaving something sad and hollow, pitying and pitiful all at once.

* * *

 

  
By the time the Exhibiton began, Yuuri's head filled so with jumbled thoughts and emotions that he could barely stand it. Sorrow for the loss of everything he’d been led to believe he’d gained in the past month. Anger at those who lied to him. Anxiety. He could barely hear the emcee beyond the swarm, his words skewed and far away.

“Like Nikiforov, Katsuki has requested all ticket sells and donations go to the Fire-Ice Alliance. The Wildlife Preserve per usual for Plisetsky and….”

The disembodied voice rambled on and Yuuri hugged himself with nothing else to hold on to as they stood before the entire ballroom, an ice stage constructed just behind them. Victor stood center, all smiles for the audience and Yuri’s expression communicated a perfect blend of smugness and “I’d rather be anywhere but here with these losers” brand nonchalance. Yuuri breathed deeply. Over and over again as he’d been taught, his fingers massaging into his pendant, digging into the cool ridges. Eros was key to his performance and his muse stood corrupted. Passion couldn't be farther from his mind.

He noticed familiar pale blue in his peripheral and refused to acknowledge it, instead focusing on the audience grinning out at them from the dark, obscured under the blinding overhead lights dousing the stage. Yuuri tugged at the skin tight material of his dancer’s robes, a mesh black with silvery entrails, more like a body suit than robes. Glittering silver bands decorated the chest and side skirts, a callback to the outfit Victor wore during his performances as a teenager. The Primaja had looked so confident then as he approached the stage, anticipation practically steaming off of him. Yuuri studied the material, the way it clung to his thighs, chest and shoulders, and shuddered. He felt nothing but exposed. Why did he ever think he could summon half of Victor’s confidence for something like this?

The present day Victor sighed audibly and Yuuri fought the urge to make eye contact and his own curiosity to see the Primaja’s Exhibition robes. Between conversations with ball guests, Yuri and the guards, Victor had asked him twice now if he wanted to talk and Yuuri waved him off each time. Guilt gnawed at him whenever Victor glanced his way with a concerned brow and pouting lips. Still, he felt strangely justified. How did it feel being on the receiving end? Being shut out and confused?

“You look amazing.” Victor whispered again.

“You’ve already seen it,” he replied curtly and the guilt stabbed him in the gut. He immediately felt even angrier at himself for feeling it. “Thank you,” he muttered out anyway, fingers curling deeper into his sleeves.

“Don’t tear it, Yuuri.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re up first.” He knew that. He’d somehow heard the emcee through the buzzing in his mind. “If you'd like I can try and get the order changed.”

Fifteen minutes wasn’t going to change anything. “That’s alright.” Yuuri shrugged, still focused off to the side. What was he going to do? He couldn’t use Victor as his muse now. Didn’t want his eyes on him. Should he return to the Eros of the Pork Cutlet Bowl? His stomach growled. The idea held promise.

“Yuuri.” Warm breath feathered against his ear and he went rigid, his entire form seizing and prickling. Victor hovered behind him, the satiny material of his robes tickling his back. Before Yuuri could protest, he brought strong arms around to catch him at the middle, pressing him backwards against his chest. A rush of energy surged where their bodies met, drawing him in.

The audience gasped and Yuuri flushed a deep red, suddenly burning up in the sheer robes.

He fixed a firm hand around Victor’s wrist and Victor whimpered softly into his ear, somehow making him flush even harder. “What’re you—!”

“Seduce me,” Victor’s lips moved over the folds of his ear, but he felt its cadence all over, in his chest and stomach. Deeper. Sizzling electrically over his skin and bleeding in from the outside. “I won’t take my eyes off you.”

Victor released him and Yuuri hated how he instantly missed it. He realized his fingers still held him at the wrist as they parted. Victor’s fingers slid up to curl into his palm before slipping away at a painstakingly slow pace. An amused Phichit led him backstage and up the stairs, the sounds of the audience and Yuri’s agitated growl of, “What the hell?!” settling somewhere behind the white noise in his ears. Against his better judgement, he spared a look over his shoulder to see Victor winking at him.

As he walked, the anxiety cementing him crumbled away. His steps landed loudly, his brow set. He no longer felt uncertain about his Exhibition’s theme. Unfortunately that theme was not Eros.

“Yuuri?” Phichit asked, the concern obvious in his tone as he ushered him onto the stage, lights blinding, a sea of undistinguishable faces staring up at him from the dark. One stood out.

_I won’t take my eyes off you._

Yuuri’s temper flared. Who in the hell did he think he was?!

 _Victor Nikiforov_ , he reminded himself bitterly as he took his place at the center of the stage, head down, arms extended behind him. The familiar guitar strummed and Yuuri knew he couldn’t play the calm seducer like this. Certainly not for Victor. Not even for a thousand of his mother’s pork cutlet bowls. It just wouldn’t be honest. He clenched his fists. He couldn't change the choreography… 

  
But he could adjust the moves…

He began the dance, not with soft sensuality as he’d been taught, but defiance. He didn’t smile when he lifted his gaze for the wink they’d rehearsed, sneering and biting at his bottom lip instead. He avoided Victor completely.

_Keep your eyes on me all you like, Victor._

He melted into a spin, his movements more vigorous than in practice, eyes practically burning.

  
_That doesn’t mean I have to look at you._

He’d played to Victor during all of his performances. From the very start, 12 and imagining him across the pews at the Ice Castle. 23 and desperate for some acknowledgement behind cold, cruel eyes. He’d practically begged him for it.

_Let’s see you beg for a change._

Several audience members whooped at him and he continued on, keeping his speed, using his eyes and body to play to groups of admirers in the audience, to reporters, to Phichit cheering him on from below the stage. But never to Victor. He spared a half glance at him during a spin jump. The Primaja didn’t seem the least bit phased. If anything, a shrewd curiosity masked his features. It agitated Yuuri. Did nothing surprise him?

 _Seduce me_ , the command tickled against his ear again and Eros reared within him, fighting Orge for control.

Yuuri managed to keep the merge controlled on the outside, jumps and spins intact, spirited as they were. The battle of the two dances raged fiercer and fiercer until the Goddess’s power seared through his veins, irrepressible. Panic seized him. This was too soon. He wasn’t supposed to use his power until the last segment of his performance and he was only halfway through.

Still, it thundered through him so harshly he knew it would either implode him or externalize itself… He imagined members of the crowd suddenly rising from their seats and hurtling across the room. The ice stage began trembling beneath him and he swallowed hard. Time to improvise.

As planned, he triggered the balcony doors to storm open. The audience gasped, some screaming as the snow and frost from outside began to funnel indoors, creating a whirlwind with Yuuri dancing at the center. Dozens of shocked, elated voices rose from the audience, questioning and debating. What? Why? How was he able to do this? Was it some sort of trick? But Yuuri could only concentrate on how he’d finish off his performance now that he’d already used his grand finale.

He snuck another glance at Victor as he dropped into a sit spin. He seemed pleased. _Did he do it on purpose?_ Yuuri wondered. _Would Victor try to upset me just to trigger a better performance?_

He drew in a deep breath. He had to drop focus on Victor’s manipulative coaching tactics and think about what else he could do with his element.

But wait. Yuuri was an ice dancer by element, but he wasn’t using his element now, was he? His audience already knew that. There was no reason to pretend. He scoured the ballroom, searching… searching… until he found it.

With the next motion of his hand, the glittering jewels of the largest chandelier at the center of the room lifted from their beds and hooks, swirling from the ceiling and downward to join in the frenzied tornado of ice and frost surrounding Yuuri.

The audience clapped, ooh-ed and ah-ed as the glittering funnel grew larger and larger, following Yuuri like a cloak across the stage. With a raised hand, he directed the bejeweled mist upward until it blanketed the ceiling completely, a glimmering cloud. _Perfect,_ he thought, performing his last jump beneath it. Now he would send the swirl obediently back into the night he’d summoned it from, shutting the windows as if it never happened at all. But- besides the unexpected addition of the chandelier crystals- something about that finale didn’t seem fitting now. Didn’t seem enough for the adrenaline fueled performance he’d just given.

Victor smiled up at him, probably proud that Yuuri had played directly into his hands. Satisfied that he’d done exactly what he’d expected him to.

But not enough to surprise him. Yuuri clenched his fists. He was so much more than what Victor expected of him.

The threads of an idea looped through his thoughts, manically weaving into something terrible. His more rational mind tried desperately to chase it out, but the still surging power that animated his limbs had a mind of its own. Smirking, he raised his arm, high above him, taking command of the swarm of crystal and frost towering overhead, beautiful but deadly. For the first time during his performance, his gaze landed squarely on Victor and remained there, eyes rapidly enlivening as he reared back.

There was something undoubtedly satisfying about watching his coach's expression as it melted from pleased to horrified.

As Yuuri’s arm moved forward, the swirling crystal storm did as well, picking up speed rapidly as it hurtled down, descending in a rush toward the Primaja.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are appreciated! Thanks!


	17. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuuri, stop it!” Victor’s voice came through the ringing in his ears. “You’re not thinking straight.”
> 
> “What else am I supposed to think?!” he jerked up, new tears burning at his eyes. “You never tell me anything!" 
> 
> Victor's secrets and Yuuri's frustration build to a frenzied crescendo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!  
> I'm so sorry I made you wait this long! Especially after a cliffy! School sort of took over everything this semester.  
> Warning: There is a lot of whiplash this chapter. It doesn't really get any better from here on out so sorry for that too ^_^'

“I wouldn’t have actually hit you,” Yuuri said for the dozenth time since he’d left the ice to roaring applause. He leaned against the back side of the stage, in the shadows and out of spectators’ sight. Victor simply blinked at him, arms folded, lips pouting downward.

“I wouldn’t have!” He leaned forward, eyes desperate. At least the Yuuri he’d been stuck with for 23 years wouldn’t have. That Yuuri cherished Victor far too much to ever harm a hair on his silvered head— even at his most deceitful. The Yuuri possessed by the Goddess’s power, however, was less predictable.

In the end, the less volatile Yuuri interfered, halting the deadly cloud just before it could impact with his coach, sending it funneling recklessly through the balcony doors. It had been close, he realized, perspiration building to join the drying sweat on his brow, pendant hot against his fingers.

“You looked like you wanted to,” Victor muttered, cradling himself as he leaned against the stage, grasping at his sheer glimmering sleeves. If only the audience could see him so sullen, petulant like a child. Yuuri’s lips twisted up in a grin.

“Yuuri!”

Caught, he shrugged sheepishly. “You’re always talking about surprising people.”

“With homicide?”

Yuuri gave a ragged sigh. “You tried to manipulate my Eros.” He faced the white marble floors. “Like I was a pawn or something.” The words reflected so much more than what pertained to a silly exhibition dance. But he didn’t elaborate. “I didn’t… I don’t like it.”

"I see." The pout loosened, slipping from Victor’s features. “I just thought it might help.”

Eros or Orge, Victor’s interference had actually helped his performance in the end… Still, he couldn't help feeling a tinge of annoyance.

Victor sighed. “Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” he nodded, looking up at him. Really looking at him. Victor’s arms tensed around himself, hair still ruffled from the threat of the storm, features nearly as pale. Now he had to perform like this… A weighty fog thickened over Yuuri and all of his former frustrations turned in on himself. How could he be so selfish?! He couldn’t just go around attacking the Primaja. His chest tightened, the lofty back walls and pillars of the ballroom blurring together before his eyes. He’d attacked the Primaja!

“I’m sorry,” he managed, leaning to peek out onto the main floor. A set of guards eyed him suspiciously from the stage front and he flinched back. While Yuri Plisetsky found the trick uproariously amusing and the general audience seemed too intoxicated by him and his powers to acknowledge the homicidal overtones, the council and majority of the palace guard felt differently. They seemed ready to tear his head off, verbally and literally, before Victor dragged him backstage.

“Don’t mind them.” The tightness around Victor’s lips finally melted into a familiar smile and Yuuri released a sigh he hadn’t been aware of holding. “I said I was in on it.”

“Thank you.” Yuuri breathed, closing the space between them, running his hands through Victor’s bangs and smoothing the flyaways.

“But I won’t protect you the next time you try to kill me, Katsuki Yuuri,” he warned in a taunting voice, finger wagging.

“I— I wouldn’t… I can’t—” The more he thought about it, the more absurd the moment seemed. “Goddess Victor, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over—”

“It’s alright.” Victor ran his hands over Yuuri’s shoulders and down to his wrists, massaging. “I’m sorry too,” he breathed against his ear. “This whole thing must be frustrating for you.”

“Whole thing?” Yuuri’s brow creased.

“Presenting Victor Nikiforov!” the emcee’s voice boomed across the hall.

 “I have to go on now,” Victor pressed a finger to his lips. He started back and then paused, eyes conflicted. “Yuuri?”

“Hm?” Yuuri asked, cheeks still flushed with shame.

Victor’s hands closed around his. “I know you’re upset with me. You have every reason to be.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened at the words, bright, hopeful lights at the far end of an inky chasm.

“And I have no right to ask anything of you…”

Yuuri steeled himself, the lights burning out in a quick fizzle. Victor wanted something.

He stepped back, breaking eye contact. “You should g—”

“I’m dedicating my performance to you,” Victor smiled, catching his hands before they could escape, thumbs trailing over the skin.

Yuuri blinked, dumbfounded, his resolve cracking open. “Um…”

“Can you watch me?” A gentle energy pulsed through where their fingers met and Victor leaned into him, the very picture of innocence. “Please?”

Victor largely dedicated his performances to the Goddess alone. Yuuri would know. He’d watched and read up on each one. When the Primaja did dedicate a dance, he honored his late grandmother. Now he wanted to break tradition. For Yuuri.

Victor, whose smile rivaled the Goddess’s. Who watered him to grow as a dancer, his sole inspiration.

Victor, who tried to toss him out. Who lied to his face and traded secrets with Chris in the dark.

“Yuuri?”

He practically shoved the kneading hands away and Victor’s features twisted in shock and then hurt. Yuuri’s mind warned him to weather it, but his heart broke.

“No! I mean!” He grasped Victor’s hands again as if the motion would repair everything. “I’ll watch you!” He bowed.

Victor beamed, eyes glimmering. “Yuuri!” He threw his arms around him. “Thank you!”

Yuuri’s stupid heart sang. Victor had already approached the stairs leading to the ice stage when his mind caught up.

“Wait!” he called and Victor glanced over his shoulder, hair swaying over his back.

“Um…” Yuuri clenched his fists. “On one condition.”

“Hm?”

“When the ball is over,” Yuuri started. “You’ll explain everything to me.”

He expected hesitation, but Victor nodded right away. “Everything,” he repeated with a soft smile. “I promise.”

With nothing else to add, Yuuri wished him luck and headed back to his seat in the first box. The crowd still buzzed over his own routine, praising his passionate performance, quietly berating him for treating crystalware so recklessly, theorizing on his power and speculating on his newly updated relationship status with Victor.

“They’re fighting!”

“They were obviously arguing backstage,” a young man with a blond mohawk and rounded glasses declared smugly. “Look how tired Katsuki looks!”

Yuuri frowned, checking his appearance in the reflection of his phone glass. Did he really look that bad?

“It’s probably just a stunt,” an older capitol official waved it off. “You know how Nikiforov likes to put on a show. He’s probably desperate to make one last wave while he’s still in the limelight.”

All chatter silenced when the lights dimmed. Victor glided out onto the ice in a trail of white, gold and silver, gossamer sleeves flowing behind him, short feathered skirts billowing over shimmery tights. He paused center stage, his arms rising as though preparing to fly or fall, features soft and waiting. His eyes found Yuuri and Yuuri’s blood betrayed him, rushing to the surface and coloring him pink. The gentle blue didn’t leave him until the violins began, slow and aching. Victor’s shoulders melted into the sound and he dipped forward, letting it carry him across the stage.

Yuuri’s focus remained and he couldn’t help but smirk. If Victor knew him better, he never would have accepted his deal. Of course he would watch him. How could he do anything else?

Victor moved in time with the strings’ somber whine, even his jumps— though perfect— empty and leaden. The instrument occasionally frenzied and Victor’s dancing grew frantic in turn, but it soon returned to the same grim tone.

Lost. Hopeless. Confused. Yuuri gripped at his chest, the scene piercing at him in that way only Victor could. Even after exposure to all of his idol’s quirks and fallacies, after the inexplicable coldness and Elder Baranovskaya’s warning, the spell hadn’t worn off. Victor still inspired a soul deep yearning with his movements alone and it drew him in deeper than ever.

Yuuri wanted to mend it, to temper his Orge, soothe his Lupe and calm his Phobos. Is that how it had always been? Had he sensed Victor hurting so many years ago?

Yuuri froze mid-thought, catching Victor’s focus on him once again. The violins and cellos lowered to introduce a soft piano. With every key struck, life seeped back into the Primaja. A spark flickered and emerged from his center, animating his limbs and coloring his features. Lupe and Phobos gradually melted away, accents of Agape in their place. Victor was a wilted flower in reversion, blooming again. Sparkling flakes trailed from his person, drawing evanescent shapes that soon evaporated into mist, curving up and diving like rainbows. He propelled into a spirited quad and the audience cheered.

Yuuri leaned forward with glazed eyes, twelve again. But there was no television screen this time, no camera to separate them when Victor laid eyes on him, his arms opened forward, a full smile on his lips. Yuuri flinched as though he stood an inch away and hushed whispers bubbled around him.

“Is he looking at Katsuki?”

The joined strings and piano swelled as Victor soared over the ice with accents of a dance Yuuri had only caught a glimpse of. But this time it shone with a radiance that none of the Victors in Yuuri’s memory possessed. This was enlightenment through true happiness. The final sacred dance, Chara.

Out of the six, Victor avoided Chara the most. Yuuri initially assumed it was his least favorite. But he soon came to suspect that, for all the joy and inspiration he brought to his admirers, Victor hadn’t actually known what true happiness was.

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile as Victor locked eyes with him yet again. He’d finally found it.

“Yuuri…”

“You know, Katsuki…”

“… with Yuuri…”

He picked his name out of the hushed whispers buzzing from behind and a swift panic brewed in his gut, the gravity of everything settling over him in numbing prickles.

 _Victor is skating for me_ , he let himself think, tears stinging at his eyes.

 _Victor lied to you_ , his logical mind countered.

_I made him happy._

_He’s tricking you._

Yuuri's breathing grew heavy and rushed, fingers clasped together, eyes still glued to the stage as Victor neared its center, both hands placed over his heart. He extended them above in one swift movement, similar to Yuuri before his rebellious finale.

Yuuri’s eyes ballooned in alarm, but no blast of frost and ice rained down on him from the ceiling. Instead, snow flakes began to fall- large and oddly shaped. Ice flowers. He caught one glittering mound in his palm and stared at it. Dozens of tear shaped petals with a feathery heart. He’d recognize it anywhere.

His other hand found the lotus pendant at his chest, fingers squeezing around it as its likeness melted in his hand. The audience around him marveled, buzzing about what it could mean and the many interpretations of the flower. Only Yuuri knew.

After his final jump, Victor fell into his final pose quite literally, collapsing gracefully in a bed of frosted flowers, a smiling angel at rest. The audience roared, some sobbing. Even Lady Baranovskaya appeared to be moved. He held his sleeping pose for some time and then relaxed, breathing hurried. Before Yuuri could stop himself, he stood, unsure of what he meant to do next. His legs carried him unwittingly toward the ice stage. He didn’t bother wiping the wetness from his cheeks.

A smile broke out over Victor's features the moment he spotted him and he raced to meet him at the tip of the stage.

“Vitya!” Elder Feltsman scolded. “Take the stairs!”

Victor promptly ignored this advice, nearly slamming into the short, clear partition that separated the stage and the ballroom floor and flinging himself several feet over the edge.

“Victor!” Yuuri cried in a frustrating mix of concern and impatience “Be careful!” He watched with nervous energy as Victor scrambled down the wall of the stage, landing with a ‘plop’ on his rear and removing his skates with abandon. He moved in to assist him and Victor tugged him downward the moment he was in arm’s reach.

“Yuuri.” He pulled him in tight and Yuuri obliged, arms closing around his neck, the night’s anger and warnings eclipsed in blue and silver.

A series of rivaling emotions tackled Yuuri as Victor’s hair tickled at his neck, fingers pressing into his back. “Y— You…” he stammered into his ear. “Why-”

Victor leaned back to pluck a lingering ice lotus from the marble and placed it into Yuuri’s palm. He folded his fingers over it and gently kissed them. “Did you like it?” he asked, eyes glittering expectantly.

“I loved it!” Yuuri blurted. “ But why did you… You couldn’t have actually...” He realized he was rambling and hid his gaze, focusing on the white of Victor’s dance robes. Victor drew him by the chin and his breath caught when they locked eyes.

“Hey!” Yuri blared from above them and they flinched. “It’s my turn now so stop whoring for attention!”

They both turned to him, eyes ballooning on contact. Yuri looked like he’d been in a fight. With a wildcat. His black and purple robes sported rips all over as though a tiger clawed through them, the sleeves sloppily torn off. His tights glittered with tiny metal studs, transparent along the outer thighs. Thick, dark makeup caked the area around his eyes, deep purple streaks in his hair.

Victor snorted. Yuuri balked.

“Yurio, what happened?!”

“Nothing happened!” Yuri scoffed. “This is my outfit. You’re just too lame to get it.”

“YURI!” Feltsman roared from the Elder’s table. “I HOPE YOU DON’T THINK YOU’RE GOING ON STAGE LIKE THAT!”

Yuri made an obscene hand gesture, his glare all the more frightening under clumps of gratuitous makeup. He flourished and a path of ice appeared, leading up to the stage.

“YURI PLISTESKY!” Elder Baranovskaya cried.

Yuri drew in a deep breath as he climbed the path before snapping around. “IT’S _MY_ EXHIBITION SO DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” He flipped his hair back. “Otabek. You ready?”  
  
Otabek nodded seriously, now in a leather cloak, a strobe light under his arm. “Hell yeah.”

Yuuri and Victor blinked in confusion as the two headed off onto the stage to a cacophony of electric guitars and raucous wailing.

 

* * *

 

“I still cant believe he snuck a band in,” Yuuri said, bewildered as they watched the ice stage being dismantled, the lights of the ballroom back up.

“And threw ice lances at the audience,” Victor snickered, the successor of many since Yuri started his performance.

“That thing with the glove…”

Victor’s arms curled around him and pulled him in before he could protest, the white of his dress robes draping his own black and silver. “I think maybe he was trying to outdo us.”

“Tch.” Yuri approached from behind. “Like I have to try.”

Yuuri couldn’t help smiling. “Yuri, that was amazing!”

Yuri gave a smug snort and tossed his hair back. “I know, right?”

“I’m so proud, Yurio!” Victor cooed teasingly at his protege.

“Stop being gross!” Yuri made a face, but he didn’t duck when Victor threw his arms around him, nuzzling at his hair. “I don't need a has-been to tell me how good I am!”

Yuuri could see Victor droop though he maintained a teasing facade. “A has-been?”

It wasn’t long before a flock of photographers descended on them. Victor threw his arms around both their necks in a fond embrace as many more followed, nobles and palace staff, Elders and military alike, crowding the three with praise. They seemed to pay Victor more attention than ever before, frantic hands grasping at his, cupping his cheeks and wishing him well for his ritual the next day.

Yuuri wanted to leave before the crowd grew thicker. Before they started asking him questions like, “Have you two made up?” and “Do you know how much chandelier parts cost?” Victor didn’t share his urgency so he answered a few harmless queries concerning the routine and his mysterious power, stealing glances at Victor all the while. The Primaja prattled on, perfectly articulate before the cameras and the sea of smiling, hungry faces. Yuuri envied him. He was too good at this.

 _Too used to it_ , he realized. Would he be as open during their talk later? More people rushed to flood the area and Yuuri began to fear they would never get to it. Isabella Yang’s black mop and blood red lips caught his eyes like warning lights and he ducked toward the perimeter. He would find Victor later.

A hand caught him by the wrist and he recognized it instantly, relaxing against the soft hum.

“Meet me at our place after?” Victor whispered over his shoulder.

Our place? Yuuri’s skin reddened, crawling with a blend of anticipation and dread. “Where?”

‘Yuuri.” A smile curved against his ear. “You know where.”

With that, Victor dropped his wrist and returned to the crowd, the charming mask in place.

 

* * *

 

The escape from his bed chambers hadn’t been as easy as anticipated— courtesy of Lady Baranovskaya. She placed several guards outside of his room that night as though she expected his rendezvous with Victor. When Yuuri couldn’t reach Victor by phone, he’d moped around his suite, plotting how to sneak past them, not barring climbing from his window.

Victor had promised to spill his secrets tonight and the window for that happening shrank with every second passed. Who knows how long the Goddess would keep him this time? He had to see him now!

Perceptive as always, Phichit picked up on his distress the moment he entered the room.

“A secret meeting?!” Phichit gushed from his bed, squeezing a fluffy white pillow to his chest. “That’s so romantic, Yuuri!”

“Phichit!” Yuuri scolded. “It’s not like that! We were just going to…” he trailed off, not wanting to go into detail. “… talk.”

“Sure, talk!” Phichit air quoted and Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“Well,” Phichit folded his arms. “I usually don’t do this, but if it’s for love, I’m sure I can arrange a distraction.”

An irrepressible smile spread over Yuuri’s lips.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Yuuri couldn’t believe the expansive network hidden within the palace walls and back corridors, a dark, creaking world onto its own. He shuffled uncomfortably in Phichit’s black guard’s jacket, the seams pulling around his shoulders as he climbed the narrow staircase toward the suite. The material clung tightly to his legs, the tail of the long jacket flapping after him. He inwardly cursed his best friend. After distracting the guards with a false summon from Chris, Phichit insisted they switch clothing. He thought it would be the perfect ‘camouflage’ for prying eyes. Yuuri thought Phichit just liked being dramatic.

He stopped just before the white ornamented door, the pale stone eyes of twin Goddess inscriptions staring into him with accusing leers. _Were you not warned?_ they seemed to ask.

For a moment, he felt every bit the oblivious blasphemer Lady Baranovskaya made him out to be. They didn’t have to meet up here. Why couldn’t Victor tell him in his room?

Before he could second guess himself any further, the door flew open. Humidity and a familiar, rosy scent misted over him. A freshly showered Victor in a fluffy robe stood in the doorway, damp hair streaming over one shoulder.

“Victor…” Yuuri uttered, all desire to dash back down the stairs vanished.

Victor sighed. “Thank goodness. For a moment, I was worried you’d gone to the rink or—” He paused, eyes shining, a heart forming on his lips “Yuuri!” He gave him a once over. “You look amazing!”

Yuuri smiled at the compliment and then instantly despised himself for it.

“Have you come to defend my honor?” Victor waved him in and he followed, removing his boots before stepping onto the white carpet.

“Phichit thought I should dress like this to throw suspicion off.” He strolled into the room he’d grown so accustomed to sharing with Victor, lazing for hours under the painted glass mural. Laughing and talking. Touching. He shook his head. Victor wouldn’t lure him into a false sense of security tonight. Not with his family on the line. He threw a look over his shoulder. “I’m not supposed to be here. Lady Baranovskaya stationed guards outside my room.”

Victor’s smile folded in, shoulders sinking.

Yuuri sat on the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving the Primaja.. “She said she’d do worse if I ‘exhibit any suspicious activity’. Whatever that means.”

Silence replied and his mouth went dry. He tried to keep the edge out of his tone when he spoke again. “You were going to explain it to me?”

Victor considered him for a bit. Once satisfied, he walked across the room to join him on the bed, reaching down to pluck something from the nightstand. A brown sack. Yuuri’s eyes narrowed. A sacred text perhaps? A news clipping? Some magical item?

_Clink clink._

Yuuri held his breath.

He nearly jumped when Victor spun around, revealing a bottle of white wine, two glasses in the other hand.

“SURPRISE!” 

Yuuri’s expression curdled.

“Come on!” Victor chuckled. “It’ll take the edge off.”

“I don’t need anything to take the edge off…” Yuuri's hands clasped together, one leg bouncing up and down on the ball of his foot at an incredible speed.

Victor eyed his erratic leg and shrugged. “Fine. My edge then,” He poured two glasses anyway, handing one to Yuuri. “To an amazing performance.”

“Okay. Just one.” Yuuri grudgingly took the glass, lifting it up in a toast, and clinked it against Victor’s. Victor smiled before he drank and Yuuri still saw remnants of Chara in his eyes, but something else muddled it now.

“To an amazing performance.” Yuuri took a sip and the bittersweet liquid spilled onto his parched tongue. He instantly felt relaxed at the motion alone. Maybe their jokes had some truth to them after all... “Will you do more like it after you retire?”

“Primaja aren’t allowed to perform publically after retirement,” Victor said in an absentminded tone, eyes on the wine as it sloshed about the glass contour. “It’s considered a disrespect to the current Primaja.”

“Ah. Of course.” Yuuri said, deflating inside. That explained why Minako and Natalya Plisetsky never performed, barring older age.

 _Will you skate for just me then?_ It sounded arrogant to say so Yuuri didn’t. Besides, there were more pressing matters to discuss.

“Elder Baranovskaya said some interesting things tonight.”

Victor looked almost annoyed for a split second, his fingers pressing tighter into the glass.

“She said you might be planning something,” Yuuri went on, his own grip tightening. “That it could be dangerous to me or my family.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “She said I’d hurt you?”

“Well-”

“Did you tell her we were meeting here?”

“No!”

“Yuuri,” Victor gave a pouting sigh and brushed a rogue strand from Yuuri’s eyes. “I couldn’t hurt you if I tried.”

Yuuri steeled his resolve.“I want to believe that. But she made it seem like you were committing treason.” He grasped his hand, ice cold under his touch. “A— Are you planning something?”

Victor stared at Yuuri for a while. Then his gaze dropped. “Lilia doesn’t like the idea of me leaving the capitol.” He leaned back onto the bed, arms cradling the wine glass at his waist. “I’ve always been a little too open to fire folk for her tastes. And I don’t approve of all of her methods. Or the rest of the capitol’s to be frank.”

Yuuri nodded. Victor had always been kind to fire folk and certainly more apt to mingle with them than his predecessors. It was just one more thing that set him apart from the rest. Before arriving in the capitol, Yuuri suspected he’d done it to fit the progressing social climate around fireborn- or even to be provocative. He hadn’t imagined that Victor had any true affinity for the Fire-Ice Alliance. Hadn’t imagined that he would as well.

“I supported Chris’s work initiative and his other projects against the council’s wishes. And I regularly advocate for the Fire-Ice Alliance.” A bitter frown slipped over his lips. “It’s as good as treason in her eyes. Between all the time we spend together and your affiliation with the Eastlands, she’s probably worried it’ll rub off on you.”

Yuuri’s breath caught, remembering the elders’ response to their Hasetsu trip just weeks ago. “That’s why they don’t want us to go to the Eastlands…”

Victor blinked at him, not saying anything, but not arguing it either.

_Just know that if you leave Glacilis or exhibit any suspicious activity, there will be consequences._

“But I wouldn’t.” Yuuri shook his head. “I would never betray the Goddess! Hasetsu’s not like that either!”

“It’s not you they’re suspicious of,” Victor said. “They’re afraid I’ll strengthen my ties with the Alliance while I’m there.” He spared Yuuri a weak grin. “Maybe even befriend a few rebels.”

Yuuri stared at him, unable to keep the suspicion from leaking in. “Would you?”

“I wouldn’t mind meeting the Alliance chapter there.” He said, one hand abandoning the wine glass to catch Yuuri’s. “But I just liked the idea of traveling with you. Exploring and seeing everything you told me about.” He squeezed gently, energy pulsing. “Planning for it.”

Yuuri’s brow furrowed. “But you’ll be retired by then! They can’t stop you from traveling! Minako does it all the time!”

“And they hate it,” Victor countered. “She’s also never expressed an interest in the woes of fire folk.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, bringing his glass into himself. He took a large gulp, but the alcohol did little to soothe him. He felt trapped suddenly, vulnerable as if he walked a tightrope and only just looked down. Would he himself ever see Hasetsu again? _If you behave_ , Elder Baranovskaya’s words echoed in his ear. The forceful winds howled long and deep outside and the sound alone chilled him.

“We won’t go,” Victor said in a low tone. “I suggested it without thinking. It was just a whim. Something I thought a lot about.”

Yuuri’s shoulders slumped. “I wanted to take you.”

“I know.” Victor attempted a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I shouldn’t have led you on. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Yuuri scowled into his wine glass. Fair? It wasn’t fair that Victor couldn’t leave the capitol. Is that why he’d been upset? Because he was stuck here? Had they threatened him too? His fists clenched.

“They can’t do this.”

“They’re elders.”

“But—!”

“In their place, would you want someone with all of the ritual’s secrets roaming around freely? Especially in the Eastlands?” Victor asked, leaning in to pour more wine into Yuuri’s glass. “Even if I’m not actively seeking to betray the Goddess, I’d be at risk and so would the shrine.”

Yuuri’s brow knitted as he took a sip. He didn’t want Victor extorted by opportunist rebels. Or worse… Suddenly tired, he leaned onto his elbow just above Victor. “Well...”

“Besides, I was so nervous about meeting your parents!” He gave Yuuri a nudge, back in playful mode. Another flawless mood shift. “What if they didn’t approve of me as your coach?”

Yuuri’s cheeks tinged pink. “Approve?” He couldn’t imagine his parents disapproving of anyone. Let alone Victor. “Of course they would, Victor. You were…You’re…”

“Victor Nikiforov?” Victor teased, lifting himself slightly from the sheets. “The famed Primaja?”

“Special to me.” Yuuri smiled, fond memories streaming through his mind. “I talked about you enough.” The blush deepened. “They’d love Makkachin. And my mom would get a kick out of the way you dance when you eat…” His fingers trembled as he grasped both Victor’s hands, abandoning his glass on the table and squeezing for as much of the gentle energy as possible. “My family would have been happy to have you.”

The teasing mask crumbled and Victor bit his lip.

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri managed, tone shaky and uneven. “I’m so embarrassed. The way I treated you tonight… And after you dedicated… I…” He trailed off, thinking of something— anything— to make it up to him. “W— We don’t have to go to the Eastlands! Maybe they’ll approve of the Southlands! There’s this colony there with ice block homes and the largest amusement park! It’s called Avalanche—”

“Yuuri.” Victor spoke again, penetrating him with such a holding gaze that the words turned to dust on his lips.

“Yes?” He leaned in, begging for a way to redeem himself.

“Will you pray for me again?” he asked. “Like last time?”

That was simple enough. “Of course!” He struggled to kneel on the comforter, the tight material of Phichit’s pants making it considerably difficult. When he’d reached a manageable position, he took his pendant in hand and drew Victor’s fingers over it. He navigated through a series of prayers, for Victor to do well at the shrine, for his magic and power tokeep the land safe from the Fire God, for the Goddess to keep Victor safe in turn and to bring him back soon.

“How long will you be gone this time?” Yuuri asked once they’d finished, their fingers still tangled together across the mosaic painted sheets. _Where do you go? Why do you go there?_ He gave a sigh. “You still have a lot to explain to me.”

“I know,” Victor whispered and his magic clouded between them, flecks of ice decorating their joined hands and brushing cool mist over Yuuri’s cheeks. One silvery streak detached from the cloud to form a ring around Yuuri’s finger.

Yuuri gaped at the ring. It was beautiful, glimmering tones of red, yellow and blues beneath the stained glass. But he wouldn’t be distracted. “So?”

“I’ll be gone for as long as the Goddess wants me.” Magic spilled through the barrier that separated them and, in that moment, it was his too. Yuuri drew it in, guiding it to shape a second ring around Victor’s finger.

“And how long will that be?”

Victor chuckled, obviously elated at being gifted his own ring and amused by Yuuri’s agitation.

“Seriously.” Yuuri frowned, flirting with the edges of Victor’s ring and watching the frost go misty at the surface. “Why does she keep you for so long?”

Victor was practically beaming. “You sound jealous.”

“Do you ever answer a question with an answer?” Yuuri muttered, turning away from the rings between them, frustrated with both Victor’s deliberate mystique and his own agitation.

“Yuuri.” Victor cradled his cheek and drew him back to center. “Please trust me.”

The bowed smile still fixed on his lips, but his eyes revealed something else entirely. Everything reflected in Victor’s gaze from Chara’s light to the sorrow Yuuri longed to soothe years before they crossed paths. Eros and Agape. Phobos and Orge. They filled them with an ocean, blue and vast. They bled from his person, into his energy, into the magic link and Yuuri knew he felt them deeper than most. Deeper than anyone should.

“Why are you so sad?” Yuuri asked before he could stop himself.

Victor’s eyes went wide and the smile fell. Yuuri pressed a finger against the dimple of his lips as though he could catch it. He felt a vague sensation of having done it before.

“You don't have to face it alone,” he continued and the storm in Victor’s eyes only heightened. “I can help you.” _If you tell me how. Please tell me how._ He brushed the backs of his fingers against Victor's cheek and Victor leaned into them, their energies growing and fusing together. Something told him he was right to come to Victor. To trust him. To be close to him. That he wasn’t close enough. He extended himself until their foreheads touched. “Victor...” Victor didn’t pull away and it gave him courage. He pressed a gentle kiss against his lips.

An almost kiss anyway. The hitch in Victor’s breathing brought him back to his senses. Yuuri gasped, starting back with wide eyes. Victor blinked at him, just as bewildered, and Yuuri began on a long string of apologies and self berating when Victor dipped down to capture his lips again.

Victor possessed more courage than Yuuri. He didn’t abandon the kiss halfway through. He finished it and kissed him again, lips soft and wine sweet, until their energies crackled and burned together. His fingers threaded through Yuuri’s hair and Yuuri made up for his first kiss by kissing him fast and unrelentingly until he gasped for air.

“Victor!” Yuuri cried, reaching out for him. “S— Sorry! I-haven’t-done-this! I-mean-besides-at-a-few parties-but-I-was-wasted—“

Victor chuckled and pressed a finger to his lips. “Slower.”

Victor’s kisses were slow enough to drive him insane, his lips purposefully languid as he teased at Yuuri’s, thumbing along the outline of his jaw. For the first time, Eros presented itself in blinding clarity and he was too busy desperately craving more of it to celebrate. Victor wanted this. Wanted him. Never in his wildest fantasies had he allowed himself to dream it and now that it was happening, he wouldn’t let it fade.

He climbed forward, straddling him, and pressed his entire body into their kisses, pulling instinct from nothing but scattered particles of memories he’d made under the influence and an innate desire. Their joined energies flared and blazed over his skin, but they didn’t scorch or wound. He wanted more.

Victor fell backwards onto the sheets, dragging Yuuri down with him. A loud ripping sound echoed over the room.

Yuuri’s stomach sank as he looked down to survey the damage, a ridged slit right up through the crotch of Phichit’s pants. “Oh no…” Heat flooded his features.

Victor exploded in a fit of laughter, raucous joy pouring from him with every subsequent rip. Yuuri groaned, kicking the pants off to avoid any further humiliation. Victor didn’t stop.

Victor,” Yuuri whined, leaning over him again, this time in boxers. Victor’s shoulders just rocked now, his voice all used up. Tears pooled in his eyes and he covered his lips, still pink and swollen from the force of Yuuri’s kisses, hair in disarray over his open robe. He was beautiful like this and Yuuri missed him already. He took the hand and moved it overhead.

“It’s not funny.”

Victor snorted but before more laughter or a teasing jest could escape, Yuuri pressed their mouths together again, this time in an open kiss. He ran his fingers through the long tresses, his other arm hooked around Victor, pressing in as though he could possess all of him at once. Their energies met and melded through their skin, tongues, the magic link and it still wasn’t close enough.

Yuuri rocked against him and Victor moaned into his lips. Warmth pooled below his stomach and he moved to repeat the motion, but Victor was scrambling back, easing Yuuri off of him with glazed but steadily widening eyes.

“Yuuri wait.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “I have to be at the shrine tomorrow.”

“You can use Eros,” Yuuri whispered in his ear, blushing at his own boldness. He moved in for his lips again and Victor dodged him.

“Yuuri—”

“I don't want you to go.” Yuuri said honestly, curling his arms around Victor and nuzzling into his chest, desperate for the same closeness.

Victor closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Stop it.”

Yuuri sighed, his senses returning through the electric haze. He was being selfish. But how long would it be before he saw Victor again?

“I understand.” He nodded, raising his gaze to meet Victor’s. “Just one more before you go?” He pushed himself upward.

“I said stop it.” Victor shoved him back and the two ice bands shattered, bits of frost and shards raining down on the sheets, the link broken.

Yuuri went rigid under Victor’s icy leer, the world going foggy before his eyes and rocky underfoot. His reality had shifted in a blink and he couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong.

 _What did I do wrong?_  The words were all too familiar and they made him sick inside.

Victor pulled himself from the bed and stood alongside it, eyes down at the white carpet, blood red staining him from the mosaic. He was avoiding him again. What’s more, he’d shut himself off, resembling a version of Victor Yuuri hadn’t seen in months. Someone he hoped to never see again. The backs of Yuuri’s eyes grew warm. For as much as he tried to blink and will it away, it only grew until they glazed over and fresh tears cascaded down his cheeks.

Ashamed, he lowered his gaze as well, staring at the tiny remnants of their rings, melting through the cotton blue sheets, warped and discolored through tears.

“Shh. Yuuri—”

“DON’T SHUSH ME!” He snapped, his thoughts too tangled and raw for anything else.

Victor sighed. “I did ask you to stop.”

Fair enough. He wiped at his cheeks with the backs of his hands. “I did something wrong.”

Victor drew further away from the bed, settling in at the writing desk. “No.” Vague as usual.

“Then why did you push me away?” Why did he flirt with him endlessly? Tell the entire capitol they were together only to reject him the moment he gave in?

“We just can’t.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Then I don’t want to.”

The bluntness shocked him and he felt dizzy again. He studied Victor, the cold visage, the distance he kept between them, the way he avoided his eyes. Recurring themes, all of them, peeking out from the veneer and leaking through the cracks. Suddenly, it was clear.

“Oh.” Yuuri said, a numbness he hadn’t felt in months creeping over his skin, seeping through the pores into his core. “I see what’s happening. I get it.”

Victor turned to look at him with rounded eyes, a glint of fear passing through.

“You don’t actually want me, do you?” Yuuri asked, the smile on his lips just a mask. Like the masks Victor always wore. When entertaining guests at the Winter Ball or playing nice for the elders. When Yuuri offered up his heart and then his body.

It made sense now. Victor constantly asking him about the Eastlands. About the landscapes and the people he’d met on his journeys. About rituals he’d learned. Didn’t his interest spike when he realized Yuuri was proficient at fireborn dancing?

_I thought you were talented. Interesting._

Useful.

_Yuuri’s taking me to the Eastlands!_

_You’ll still take me, won’t you?_

“What kind of plans do you have with the Fire-Ice Alliance?” he asked, surprising even himself with the steady tone. He turned accusing eyes on Victor. At least the numbness was good for something. “What do you talk about with Chris?”

Victor’s brow creased, his features reddening. It only served to confirm his theories. “What?”

Yuuri snapped up. “Where do you go after the ritual?!”

“Yuuri—”

 _He’s been putting the kingdom at risk from day one._ Lady Baranovskaya’s warning returned to him, loud and clear. He began to snicker, a high-pitched, nervous sound that didn’t know if it wanted to laugh or cry.

“Of course you swore on the Goddess for me.” There was no sacrifice in swearing on something you had no allegiance to. “I always thought it was weird that you started being nice to me after I got black out drunk.” He leaned forward, a tornado forming in his gut and whipping through the numb. “You must have realized how stupid I was.” Stupid and weak. He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping hard enough to tear the strands.

“Yuuri, stop it!” Victor’s voice came through the ringing in his ears. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“What else am I supposed to think?!” he jerked up, new tears burning at his eyes. “You never tell me anything! If it’s not true then tell me why or be quiet!”

He stared at him for a while and only the wind answered, lonely over the mountains. After a few moments, Yuuri sank his head into his hands.

“I was so stupid,” he said, voice breaking. “To think that you could actually... that you and I…” He trailed off, his voice too thick with tears to continue and a sob wracked his shoulders. He settled into the comforter, surrendering to the numbness and hoping Victor would excuse himself. He didn’t think he could handle another excuse.

No excuse came and his eyes grew heavy. Yuuri thought he might fall asleep there, but after long, he noticed another sound in the room. Soft breathing. And then a whimper. Yuuri’s eyes popped open and he whipped toward the writing desk where Victor huddled, hands folded over his head.

“Victor?” he crawled across the comforter, squinting in disbelief. “Are you crying?” Through his emotional exhaustion all sorts of feelings swept about, sorrow and shame, guilt and a strange curiosity. Anger. “Why are _you_ crying?!”

“Because I’m upset,” Victor snapped back, dragging his fingers through his silver bangs, ice blue eyes lasered in on him. For the first time, Yuuri considered the chill in them didn’t necessarily suggest a lack of emotion. “I thought you said you could see into me, Yuuri.”

The guilt unfurled, blossoming and growing over the rest. Yuuri caught it before it could bleed out into his actions, plucking it from its roots. This was a part. Like the rest Victor played. The dazzling Primaja. The charming playboy. The bumbling coach and the would-be lover.

 _Can you fake something like Chara?_ An image of Victor smiling at him as his body created love and light out of ice and air, a tribute to Yuuri.

No, no, _no_. It wasn’t real. Yuuri grasped his head, shaking it rapidly. He was tired. So tired.

“You said not to trust you,” he managed. “That you might be a bad person.”

“And you said you didn’t believe that,” Victor smiled at him through tears. He gave a long sigh, his expression going bitter. “But I guess even faith as deep as yours wavers after a while.” He began to chuckle, as if he’d made a joke. “Took you long enough.”

“S— So you’re admitting it?”

“I told you that because I didn’t want to disappoint you.” Victor got up, crossing the carpet again to sit beside him on the bed. His hand fell over Yuuri’s and Yuuri debated snatching it away. He realized he didn’t want to. Couldn’t. His hand felt heavy. Everything did.

“But it happened anyway.” Victor’s eyes went soft and sad. “I’m sorry you have to go through this, Yuuri.”

“Why’d you really want me to leave?” Yuuri asked, letting Victor thumb over his hand.

Victor looked at him, searching. He sighed finally. “To protect you.”

Yuuri felt Victor’s energy, the soft buzz pulling him in. He found himself leaning against his chest, too exhausted to do anything else. Still he laughed darkly, his cheeks aching with the movement. “What?”

To his surprise, Victor began laughing too, his hand massaging circles into Yuuri’s back. “This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Doing what?” Yuuri muttered, eyes closing over.

“I was so loyal for so long.” His hand tensed over Yuuri’s back, the massages deepening. “It was easy when it was just me and Yuri, but then she chose you and I knew it wasn’t… I couldn’t just—” He was rambling.

“Victor?” Yuuri forced his eyes open. It was becoming more and more difficult.

“I wanted to protect you,” he repeated into Yuuri’s hair as though convincing himself. “I’ve never had anything like that before. Something I could protect.”

“Mm.” Yuuri mumbled into his chest, the words suddenly not making much sense. Something wasn’t right. “Victor…”

“Aren’t you tired?” Victor asked with a fuzzy frown.

He was. A familiar melody began to hum in the background, but Yuuri couldn’t quite place it.

You must be,” Victor’s voice echoed as if through a vacuum. “I only kissed you and I can feel it.”

Something jolted through Yuuri, a misstep calculated too late. He dredged up the energy to push through the sluggish haze, to face the bedside table where Victor’s wine glass still sat mostly full. “Victor…” he uttered, the panic failing to centralize, fraying at his edges and wobbling there. He began breathing rapidly. “Y— You—”

“I put it in the wine glass, not the bottle,” Victor explained a bit too calmly for Yuri’s taste. He struggled not to fall over, grasping desperately at Victor’s collar in both anger and desperation to stay afloat.

“No!” he heard himself say. Or was he thinking it? He couldn’t tell anymore. He just knew he couldn’t let Victor leave. He scanned the bedsheets, searching desperately for his phone, but they conjoined into a mess of swirling patterns that wouldn’t stay still. He realized in horror that Phichit suggested he leave his phone in his room on the off chance it could be tracked.

“Yuuri,” Victor attempted to placate him in an aggravatingly gentle tone. “Please. It’s not poison.” He spoke to him as though he were a child refusing to eat broccoli and not a grown man he’d just drugged. “It won’t hurt you.”

Yuuri grasped the collar of his robe even tighter. Or perhaps that was his hair. Victor hissed and Yuuri felt a twinge of satisfaction.

“I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Phantoms rushed before his eyes. Of better times in this very room, lying beneath the colors and laughing. _Yuuuu-ri_ , Victor would tease. Of practice under a bright white sky, Victor’s call in his chilled ears. _Yuuri!_ Whispers in the shadows. _Yuuri._

“Yuuri.” This one seemed closer. “That was my phone. They’re here. I have to go.”

No… Yuuri moaned into what he assumed was a pillow. Tears burned at his eyes. _You can’t leave me like this. You can’t!_

Had he said that? He couldn’t discern anymore, motor and mental functions he didn’t even realize he possessed failing him. Fear surged through his veins. He didn’t want to be left alone like this.

 _Please don’t leave me_ , he heard himself say. He went on, but the rest was an unintelligible mess. A warm, gentle hum surrounded him and he surrendered to it and so surrendered to the deep black beckoning him forward. He dipped out of consciousness and it was quiet after that. Ever so often, Victor would appear, leaning in close, saying his name over and over until it broke and shattered on his lips.

 _Yuuri, Yuuri Yuuri._ Yuuri counted each syllable until they blurred together. _Riyuu, Riyuu, Riyuu._

“Victor,” he tried.

The trail of Yuuris stopped.

 _It’s okay._ The words echoed and bounced off the insides of Yuuri’s skull.

_I’m so sorry._

_Please don’t forget me._

 

* * *

 

Familiar snoring woke him the next morning. He kept his eyes closed, heaviness sinking into his skin and limbs. The room seemed to move around him. He must have fallen asleep in the suite again. And he’d been drinking from the feel of it…

Though not bright as usual, the sun streamed in from somewhere and even with his eyes closed, it was enough to pain the area between his brows. Definitely drinking.

He struggled to at least move his hands, instantly freezing at the result. He was bound.

“Hey there sleepy head.”

His eyes shot open.

He hadn’t just felt as though the room was moving. This was a train car in motion. Freight, from the looks of the rusted metal walls. He'd been propped upon a mattress with sheets, his back pressed against a large pillow. The air was cool, but not freezing. A few locomotive radiators lined the wall across the way. He noticed a small, rounded bed nearby, a snoring lump settled over it.

“Makkachin!” He leaned forward despite the booming sensation it caused in his head. The metal restraints barely allowed for it, strung tightly over his guards jacket. Guards jacket…?

Makkachin whined in her sleep in response and Yuuri turned toward the original voice, a man of about forty in a worn brown overcoat and slacks, a plaid cap on his head. He extended a bottle of water toward him and Yuuri flinched.

“Want some?”

“Wh— Where am I?” Yuuri asked, voice scratchy.

“You’re on a train out of Glacilis,” the man explained. “We’re leaving the capitol.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffy! YAAAAAAAY! ^_^'  
> I will try to update MUCH sooner this time!  
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated! Even if you disagree with something! Support helps to spur me on and constructive criticism keeps me sharp! Thank you!  
> I'm sorry if this chapter gave you even more questions! We are moving into Act 2 and all questions will be answered then!


	18. The Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yuuri trembled beneath the bonds, teeth grinding together until his head screamed. Victor hadn’t just betrayed Yuuri. He betrayed his people, his duty as Primaja and everything it stood for."
> 
> Yuuri struggles to escape captivity as misfortune befalls the Capitol.

Leave?

“I can’t leave the capitol! I—” Lady Baranovskaya’s threat resurfaced and last night’s memories rushed in with it. Warm lips on his. Tears. Darkness crushing in.

_I only kissed you and I can feel it._

His shock twisted into anger and he wrestled against the rope, black fibers pulling taut and biting his skin. “Victor!”

“Careful.” The man frowned through the dark. “That rope’s tough. You'll give before it will.”

“He...” Yuuri started, red hazing his vision. “He drugged me...”

The man nodded as though he’d remarked on the weather. “A little dormiam never hurt nobody. The military uses it to subdue fire folk, you know that?” He leaned forward and Yuuri started back for as much as the wall would allow.

“Kind of funny they used it on a Primaja…” the man chuckled and nodded toward Makkachin. “Dog’s sleeping like a baby.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. Victor drugged Makkachin too?

“She’s fine.” He shook the water bottle before him again. “Here. You better drink this. Dormiam don’t hurt, but it'll give you a mean headache.”

Yuuri grimaced. He didn’t want to accept any drinks after last night, but he could feel the headache pressing at his temples already. His tongue felt like pumice and it stuck to the roof of his mouth. There wouldn't be any point in drugging him again, right? He was caught.

He leaned forward and the man pooled some of the water onto his tongue. It felt amazing against his throat and, before he realized, he’d latched on to the mouth of the bottle.

“I’m Marcus by the way.” The man winked, tossing the bottle across the car once Yuuri drained its contents. It landed with a clatter somewhere in the dark. “Just relax, kid. It’s gonna be a long ride to the East.”

“The East?” Yuuri’s breathing shallowed. He shook his head. “I can’t go to the East! I have a duty to the Goddess! If the elders find out—!”

“You’ll be fine.” Marcus shrugged. “Been helping run this thing for years. The Shadow Rail. You heard of it?”

Something clicked and fell heavy in the pit of Yuuri’s stomach. The Shadow Rail. An infamous legend surrounding a mysterious railway that aided renegade fire starters and former rebel prisoners, carrying them away from persecution in the capitol to wreak more havoc back in the East. The stories spread like frost in Hasetsu, from old widows’ gossip to songs children sang to terrify one another.

_Riding in at midnight’s knell... Riding in on the Shadow Rail..._

Yuuri’s gaze lowered to his lap. He’d abandoned the legend long ago with other childish fancies. He never dreamed it could actually exist. Or that Victor would nab him a one way ticket…

He grit his teeth. Hadn’t he improved? Redeemed himself? After everything, Victor wanted to send him home, just as he had from the start. Grunting, Yuuri jolted forward only to have the binds hold him in place, his power licking turbulently around him. He attempted to direct it at the rope’s fibers. It did nothing.

“Can’t dance like that, can you?” Marcus smirked.

Yuuri slumped in defeat.

“Sorry,” he added. “We’ll untie you when you get home. Found a good underground spot for you and your family. Capitol won’t find you there.”

Underground. A fugitive… “I don’t want that…” he whispered. “You have to take me back!”

The smile lines around Marcus’s lips smoothed. “No can do.”

“Victor…” he seethed, eyes warm.

“So Nikiforov really is behind this, huh?” Marcus asked. “Color me surprised.”

“Didn’t he hire you?”

“Nah,” Marcus shook his head. “Military guy asked for a favor. Works up there at the palace with you.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Chris.”

“Giacometti?” Marcus scoffed. “Hell no. Another one. Sweet kid. Knew my son growing up.”

Yuuri wracked his brain to identify the traitor guard.

“Whoever’s behind it left you a message on here.” He pulled a white, electronic tablet from a pile of cloth at his feet. “One of them fancy capitol gadgets…” Yuuri gasped. Victor’s.

  
How many times had he watched him scribble choreography notes onto the screen as they lay side by side or snap candid pictures of Makkachin? Sometimes Victor let him use it to play games or record his performances during practice.

“Let me see!” he cried.

“Can’t unlock it all tied up like that. Wait till you get home…” Marcus scratched through his cap. “Surprised you woke up so soon. Thought you’d be out for at least another ten hours.”

“I need to see it now!” Yuuri’s lungs burned and he was suddenly very aware of the train’s motion beneath him, the relentless rumble of wood and metal carrying him closer and closer to the Eastlands... Miles from his destiny in Glacilis...

“HELP!” he cried, knowing that no one could actually hear him tucked away in the mountains on a moving freight train. “HELP ME!”

Marcus sighed. “Boy, there’s no one around for miles but you, me and the man driving this thing. And he’s on my side.”

Yuuri lowered his head  with a guttural moan, limbs going numb from struggling against the ropes.

“We’ve had louder passengers than you, but it don't make the trip a pleasant one,” Marcus kneeled at his side. “Now you’re not leaving this train til it stops and you’re gonna get bored screaming your head off so—“

An explosion rocked the car, shaking the ground underfoot and bruising Yuuri’s eardrums. For a moment, he feared the train would derail, but it continued its course, now screeching against the track. Clouds of humidity drifted in where coolness settled moments before and the train edged to a grinding halt. Yuuri’s heart sped so recklessly, he could barely tell one beat from the next.

Fire. He could smell it.

Makkachin whimpered from her corner.

“What the hell?” Marcus pulled himself from the floor with a groan and headed for the sliding door. Looping one hand into the rusted hatch, he tugged and it thundered open. Heat rushed in.

“Holy Inferno…”

Blazing flame spires towered above the snow blanketed mountains that cushioned the capitol, hissing and sizzling the air. Another had just erupted nearby, likely felling a tree and flooding the compartment with the scent of charred wood.

Before he could even think, his body shrank into itself as much as the rusted metal walls and his binds would allow. He eyed Makkachin, still slumbering peacefully on her bed. “W— We have to get out!”

“It didn’t catch the train,” Marcus said and Yuuri’s breathing steadied just a bit. “Looks like some trees on the track up ahead though.”

Yuuri struggled not to hyperventilate and shut his eyes so harshly his jaws hurt. He felt the pendant at his chest and forced himself to draw in a deep, slow breath. Flame like this meant unmuzzled fire folk were nearby. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Victor must have known…

“It’s alright.” Marcus waved, though he seemed unsure himself. “Let me check with the captain. I’ll be right back.”

“W— Wai…” Yuuri silenced himself. He wouldn’t beg his captor to stay and coddle him. He wasn’t so weak.

Victor should have known that.

“Okay,” he forced, already pondering how he could escape as the door’s shadow closed over him. He studied the black restraints under dim gaslights, but he couldn’t see where they began or ended. He could barely even move for the fear of them ripping his flesh. He could already feel the bruising beneath the guard’s jacket and sweatpants…

His breathing quickened again and he shook his head to clear it, trying to focus on anything but the growing heat and crackling in the distance. He focused instead on Makkachin’s soft breathing. His own unsteady respiration. And something else.

It had been difficult to make out over the roar of a rushing train and Marcus’s company, but the low buzz of a portable radio droned in the background, reception dipping in and out. A woman’s voice came in clear through the static.

“… Patrice Okfar covering for Isabella Yang today. We are still on lockdown. The Elder Circle encourages all citizens to stay in their homes. This is Terror Alert 5. We’re on Terror Alert 5. Believed to have started the attack early this morning, Leroy’s insurgents infiltrated the capitol using underground…”

The broadcast fizzled out again and Yuuri blinked, dumbfounded, at the small metal box as though it could eat its words. So it was true. The capitol was under attack… And Victor had known.

Yuuri quaked beneath the bonds, teeth grinding together until his head screamed. Victor hadn’t just betrayed Yuuri. He’d betrayed his people, his duty as Primaja and everything it stood for.

An emptiness settled in and remained until Makkachin whimpered again. The dim compartment settled back into focus. She turned over in her sleep, tongue lolling.

“Heh...” He had to escape. For Makkachin’s sake at least. Nodding to himself, he began scanning the car for anything that might break the ropes. A scrap of metal. A jagged edge. If he could throw himself onto his side, he might be able to squirm toward it...

The door slid open and he froze. He’d waited too long… Blinding sun and firelight shone through, but no one darkened the threshold.

“M— Marcus?” Yuuri stammered, eyes trained on the opening. Nothing but white mountains and towering flame gates. Sweat broke over his brow and he thought about attempting to move closer when a head leaned into the doorway, black hair iridescent under the blaze, strong jaw set. Yuuri gasped.

“Otabek!”

“Hey.” Otabek’s cautious eyes darted over the car’s interior. They narrowed at Makkachin’s sleeping form for a while. Once satisfied, he pulled a jackknife from his back pocket and approached Yuuri. Taking the restraints under his blade, he sliced through them like butter and Yuuri let out a deep breath as they recoiled, crumpling to the dusty car floor with barely a thud.

“Come on.” Otabek gathered the sleeping Makkachin in his arms, hoisting her over his shoulder. “Before he comes back.”

Yuuri nodded, keeping close to him as he peeked out of the train door and beckoned him forward.

“How did you find me?” Yuuri asked as they leapt into the snow. It was an odd feeling, ankle deep in frost, head swimming in humidity. He tried to ignore the flame spires moving over the mountains, stretching closer and closer to Glacilis where they burned the fiercest and peaked the highest.

Had Victor already fled? Was he fighting for the rebels? _Why?_ He clenched his fists and then, he remembered.

“The tablet!” he gasped, snapping back toward the car.

Otabek caught him by the arm. “Katsuki—”

“I have to go back!” Yuuri started to jerk away when he noticed two figures scrambling out of the very head car and into the snow.

His captor and another man— the conductor he assumed— tumbled over themselves, putting space between them and whatever horror lurked inside the car. Yuuri’s eyes narrowed and Otabek grunted behind him.

“P— Please, don’t hurt us!” the conductor begged.

“This is just a freight train!”

“BULLSHIT!” a familiar voice cursed and a small figure stormed from the captain’s car, whirls of frost spinning around both hands. “I saw him when you opened the door, dumbass!”

“Yuri!” Otabek raced forward. “What are you doing here?!”

Yuri scoffed and narrowed green eyes on them. “What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here, Otabek?!” He bounced the mist from hand to hand, the Goddess’s energy riveting the ends of his black fleece, frosting over the silver studs running down the arms. “Why are you following the pig?! You’re supposed to be my guard! And you!”

Yuuri gulped.

“You conveniently get yourself kidnapped when the capitol is under attack?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Yuuri snapped, shoving his hair back from his forehead. “It was…” He trailed off, Victor’s name caught in his throat, lips reluctant to betray it.

“Really?” Yuri’s jaw set, nostrils flared. “Is that why you were acting so weird at the ball last night?! Victor said you were having second thoughts before he left for the shrine!”

“WHAT?!”

A crunching sound rose from the right and Yuri snapped around to find Marcus and the conductor creeping toward the brush. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Otabek shook his head. “Yuri, leave them alone.”

“They kidnapped Pork Cutlet Bowl!”

“Let the military deal with it. They’ll be here any minute.” Otabek glanced over his shoulder at the red tinged mountains. “We need to get back to the palace.”

“Fine.” Yuri rolled his eyes with a huff. “But just so they can’t go anywhere…” A slow smirk slithered over his lips and he raised one hand, a storm of ice surging about his fingers.

Yuuri followed his movements, eyes growing wide. “No!”

It was too late. Yuri lashed out and an ice ridge formed across the entire length of the train, pushing against the cars until they dislodged from the track with a screeching groan. Yuuri gaped in horror as it tilted on its side and slid downward to careen over the edge of the slope and into the narrow gorge below. It sparked against the rock with a thunderous sound before bursting into flame.

“Yurio…” Yuuri’s voice wavered as the cloud of dense, putrid smoke rose from the valley. So much for Victor’s message…

“Heh.” Yuri folded his arms behind his head, too busy admiring his handiwork to notice the two men sneaking away into the wood behind him. “That was awesome, right?”

Makkachin barked in disapproval, eyes squinty and glazed with sleep.

Otabek blinked at the ever growing smoke cloud and then turned wary eyes on his charge. “When did you get here?”

“I was a few minutes behind you!”

“And how?”

“Took your bike. The one you never use anymore?” Yuri said, expression smug. “Told you I could drive it!”

“That’s theft.” Otabek accused, though Yuuri could see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he approached a set of motor sleds parked further away from the track. He pulled on a black helmet that gleamed under the flames overhead and tossed another at Yuuri. “If you drive so well, you can take Yuuri back to the palace. I’ll route you there safely before I head out.”

Yuuri frowned. The palace? Yuri said Victor had gone to the shrine…

Yuri watched with slitted eyes as Otabek secured Makkachin into a harness on his bike, a deep red motor sled with black skull designs. “And where are you going?”

“None of your business.” Otabek mounted the motorsled. “Did you bring a helmet?”

“Tch.” Yuri rolled his eyes. "Like I need one.”

Otabek tossed his own at the blond and gave him a warning look. “Stay close,” he said. He revved the motor and leaned forward, eyes set on the capitol.

Yuri snorted, watching him speed off as he fastened the helmet at the head of his own sled, yellow with blue flames. “I’m not wearing this.”

Yuuri knew better than to argue with him. Pulling his own helmet on tight, he climbed onto the back. How did he keep ending up on these things?

Yuri settled in at the front, scanning the red tinged mountains. Flame began licking at a large Evergreen on a peak to their left. It took and the branches crackled wildly, the blaze spreading and devouring each limb. Yuuri winced.

“Never seen fire like this before,” Yuri muttered to himself, mouth slightly agape, crimson and orange reflecting in his eyes.

Yuuri frowned. Yuri was born and raised in the Westlands. He couldn't be familiar with this. “You okay?”

He revved the motor with a violent tug and Yuuri jolted back.

“I’m fine, pig,” Yuri tossed his hair back and scowled. “I’m telling you now, Otabek calls me the Speed Demon.” A manic grin curved over his lips.

Yuuri swallowed hard. “S— So?”

“So you better not be a bitch about it.”

The bike lurched forward from 0 to 40 mph in one second, making a sharp turn and plowing toward the capitol, the blended feel of humidity and melting snow moist on Yuuri’s skin. Rather than staying low on Otabek’s path, they climbed the hills, bringing them closer to the flame without the snow pelted valleys to cushion them. A chill passed through Yuuri despite the heat.

“I thought he wanted us to follow him?”

“How’d you get kidnapped?” Yuri ignored the question. “And why was Otabek following you?!”

Yuuri’s lips turned under. “I don’t know,” he answered the second half.

“It wasn’t the first time…” he grumbled. “You’re not thinking about stealing my guard are you?! Because—!”

“Yurio, watch the road!”

They nearly collided into the base of a towering crag when Yuri swerved back onto the path. They gave twin sighs of relief as the sled sped on past the rocky formations and further up the mountains.

“I’m not stealing anyone’s guard,” Yuuri said, massaging his whiplashed shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand… anything.”

A resounding crack boomed from somewhere beneath them and a trail of frost stroked up the sky like lightening. The nearest flame spire fizzled and died.

“They’re fighting on the ground,” Yuuri gasped. He leaned toward the edge of the cliff, but he couldn’t make out anything but flame, ice strikes and the mist they created together. His pulse rocketed. “W— We should get away from the edge.”

“They can’t see us,” Yuri said, but he traveled downward, into a narrow pathway carved in the mountains, away from the flame. The heat remained, sagging in the air in thick pouches.

“Someone had to order it,” Yuri said after several minutes. “Your capture I mean.”

“Yeah.” Someone. Yuuri bit his lip so harshly he tasted metal. He should be focused on the rebel attack. On what he could do to fight it. But all he could think about was Victor. “I can’t go back to the palace.”

“What?”

“Drop me off.” Yuuri’s eyes narrowed at the highest structure in the distance, icy tendrils untouched by the heat, still soaring above the sacred valley below. “I need to get to the shrine.”

Yuri snorted. “Where the hell do you think I’m going?”

Yuuri gawked at him, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“We’re not hiding in the palace like cowards.” His muscles grew taut over the bike grips. “The Goddess didn't give us fucking ice powers so we could run when the war comes. We’re gonna hold down the shrine and fight.”

Yuuri couldn't keep the grin from curving over his lips. “That’s really brave, Yurio.”

Yuri’s already winter bitten ears turned a shade pinker. “Ah… whatever. I guess,” he muttered. “Just remember I saved your ass! So you and your creepy occult powers better have my back!”

Yuuri suppressed a laugh that whooshed from his nostrils instead. “I won’t let you down.”

They strategized on their way into the capitol, keeping to inconspicuous, isolated passages and routes that Yuuri had no idea existed. He quietly thanked the Goddess for Yuri’s penchant for sneaking out. He supposed if he’d been locked up in the palace his entire childhood, he’d find a way too…

They travelled through vacant, industrial regions, cluttered with greenhouses and other manufacturers. Towering windowless structures with nondescript signs read P.I.T, Mercer and other names he'd never heard of. Yuuri remembered Emil’s stories about fireborn and power plants, and his stomach leadened. He felt relieved when they reached the emptied city streets, the sound of far off skirmishes and elemental gunfire in the air. Smoke pierced his nostrils, thick and acrid. It was only a matter of time before the military spotted them.

The mountain shrine towered at the heart of Glacilis and there was only one entrance. They would have to enter the public arena eventually and convincing Yuri to finally wear his helmet for disguise purposes would only keep them unnoticed for so long…

When they entered the Capitol Square, it felt instantly wrong, a grey washed photograph. The usually vibrant plaza— full of tourists admiring the heavenly sculptures and the shrine’s glistening spikes and tendrils... of childrens’ laughter and entertainers’ songs— fell dead on Yuuri’s ears. Military rushed about in their long coats and fire retardant armor and helmets, exiting the square. Others stood their guard before the shrine, the security three times deep. Several detained fire folk— most of whom looked to be frightened civilians. Perhaps the rebels hadn’t made it this far. Yet.

“Sir, can you step off the sled?”

Yuuri felt Yuri tense as the group of guards surrounded them. One took aim.

“I said step off the sled.”

Yuri didn’t move. Rather, he lifted the helmet from his head and shook his hair out.

The guard lowered his gun immediately. “Y— Yuri Plisetsky!”

They moved in closer, frowning and squinting. “I thought he was supposed to be barricaded at the palace!”

“Whose that behind you?!”

“Katsuki?!”

Yuri nodded at the narrow path set in the lone mountains just ahead. “We’re here to defend the shrine.”

They all exchanged nervous glances. A mustached guard finally snorted and the rest soon joined in uproarious laughter.

“Is this a joke?”

“Let the professionals take care of it, kid. We need you for the ritual.”

An armored woman placed a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “Let’s get you back home.”

Yuri’s mouth tugged downward. “Do it.”

“Do what?” Confusion skewed their features.

Yuuri swallowed hard. He knew what.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. Then, just as they’d discussed, he concentrated all of his frustration from the past 24 hours and raised his arms skyward, taking the Orge pose.

“What’s he doing?!” One of the guards raised his weapon.

His power swelled immediately and he turned it outwards, the force bouldering into the group and sending them flying and sprawling across the open square.

“Heh.” Yuri’s eyes glinted. “Nice.”

“Oh my Goddess,” Yuuri whimpered as the sled surged forward toward the narrow entrance to the shrine.

“Told you they wouldn’t let us in.”

Yuuri bit his lip, watching as warrior dancers raised their arms in his direction, non-elementals, their weapons. “It didn’t hurt to ask.”

“Don’t stop!” Yuri scolded as they barreled for the opening. Yuuri continued using his energy to repel any guard who approached within three meter’s radius of them. Yuri raised a hand from the handlebars and, with one gesture, created an ice path, similar to the one he’d made before his exhibition skate. The bike switched from the ground’s path onto the elevated iceway and carried them into the mountains that hid the shrine. Capitol guards gawked at them from the ground as they soared overhead.

They landed on the snow with a jolt, the lofty mountain heights on either side darkening the narrow path within. Yuuri yelped as a chilly blast narrowly missed his helmet.

“They’re attacking!” he called, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

“I need you to steer for a minute!” Yuri maneuvered himself to face the rear so that they sat front to front, blond tresses whipping.

“What?!” Yuuri croaked. “How—!”

“Just drive the damn bike!” Yuri growled, abandoning the bars and leaving Yuuri no choice but to lean forward, boxing Yuri in and clinging to the handles because their lives depended on it.

Yuri lifted both arms and, with a few gestures, summoned a thick sheet of ice, effectively blocking the entrance of the shrine. They continued, Yuri creating towering ice blockades and Yuuri attempting to navigate around him. Soon the stone path grew more and more narrow, until Yuuri could barely keep from shouldering against the walls.

“Yurio!” he warned. “Ease off the gas! We’re gonna—”

The sled caught on the mountain’s base and slanted to the right. It turned sideways, scraping the walls on both ends, its metal showering white hot sparks against the rock. The path only continued to narrow until the sled lodged permanently and halted, flinging them both forward into the snow.

"Whoa..." Yuuri lay there for a while, nothing but the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. The snow’s chill was trivial compared to the shock, goosebumps prickling out. He’d just forced his way into the Goddess’s shrine— during a capitol siege no less. If Victor sending him away hadn’t been enough to incur the elder’s wrath, this would be.

“Shit.”

He pushed himself up to see Yuri examining the motor sled, the yellow and blue paint burned black in several areas, handles twisted and lopsided. “Otabek’s gonna kill me...”

Yuuri stood to his feet, using the cavern walls to support himself. He paused upon noticing the ground before them. Grey, snow sheeted stone transitioned into nothing but pure ice. The path ahead composed of shimmering blue green walls, the color of Victor’s eyes.

Carved into the rock just before the transition was an image of the Goddess he'd never seen before. It was chipped and old, more so than any of the ancient carvings he'd witnessed in history books. But the essence remained, as though it had been etched too deep for the snow and decay to bury it.

Her stance was not proud or majestic here, but bowed forward, her expression hidden. A demon writhed, trapped, in her hold, horned and spitting flame.

“Creepy,” Yuri muttered, glowering at the image as he walked on.

“Creepy?” Something about it made Yuuri feel hollow. Without realizing, he reached out to press his palm against the carving. It pulsed back. His breathing quickened and he realized his heart rate wasn’t slowing from their joy ride.

“Hey,” Yuri called, now at his side. “Don’t freak out on me now, pig!” He motioned with his head. “This way.”

Against his best intuitions, he followed Yuri deeper into the ice cavern, flawless and pristine, as though no-one had ever set foot there. The snow lessened as the sky cut off overhead, leaving them completely immersed in shades of jade and aqua blue, glistening where the sun peeked in through hollows in the ceiling. It almost reminded Yuuri of the crystal caverns back home. Beautiful. But he could barely appreciate it with the screaming in his mind, pulse still clamoring recklessly. He watched Yuri walking ahead through the fog. The boy seemed more collected than usual, moving almost robotically through the ice maze.

“Here,” he said, ducking below a row of low hanging stalactites. “Watch your head.”

Yuuri swallowed down his rising panic. If his teenage companion had been brave thus far, he could be too.

They stepped onto a snowy landing outside, vacant and eerily quiet. The mountains shimmered high above them at every turn, snow drifting onto the clearing. The left mountains jutted out over a single spot of land , leaving the ice pristine and pure beneath it, clear of snow.

The heart, Yuuri realized. They were standing at the heart of the shrine. Where he'd watched Victor dance in the secret video that started all this, the wind whipping a melody across the mountains. He forgot himself and started forward. Yuri caught him by the arm.

“Careful.”

Yuuri’s breathing hitched. Just meters ahead, the ground fell away to dive deep into the earth. The ice spikes and tendrils originated from this crater, snaking and crossing so that Yuuri couldn’t make out the bottom of the ravine. From there, they climbed and soared overhead, high above the mountains. The perfect prison.

“Wow...” Yuuri breathed, voice trembling with the force of his heartbeat. A sweat broke over his palms.

“Yeah.” Yuri shrugged, eyes trained on the impenetrable glass maw. A strange response. It wasn’t as though he was used to this...

Yuuri eyed him from his peripheral. “Have you been here before, Yurio?”

Another shrug. “My mother was Primaja,” he said as though that explained everything. “Victor should be around here somewhere.”

Yuuri took one step forward before he noticed a change in the atmosphere. The air had been growing thicker and thicker with each step traveled and now he couldn’t ignore it. The heat from the rebel attack hadn’t reached the shrine yet. It had to be something else.

“Yurio,” Yuuri tugged at the collar of the guard’s coat, attempting to keep his breathing steady. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Yuri asked as they walked along the crater’s perimeter. His eyes narrowed. “You really are freaking out, aren’t you?”

“Yuuri?” The new voice extinguished his concern in one gust, his frantic heart rate and labored breathing falling somewhere in the backdrop.

“Victor,” he growled, fingers furling into fists.

Victor stood in the traditional gossamer and satin robes, shades of violet, plum and gold billowing in the wind. A beaded crown dressed with rare gems adorned his silver head.

Yuuri’s energy crackled and licked at his skin as he watched him just standing there, bejeweled and beautiful, as if he hadn’t known about the biggest rebel attack in a century. As if he hadn’t tried to send him across the world and tarnish his reputation. His eyes were perhaps the only give away, wide and mortified. Disappointed in a plan failed. Yuuri broke.

He flew at him, grasping at the collar of his robes. Victor’s energy reacted in like, bursting and flaring out over his skin in electric waves.

“You lied to me!” The tears already burned at the backs of his eyes. “Everything you said… all of it—”

“Victor!” Georgi and a second guard called from the other end of the ravine, weapons and magic at the ready.

“Stand down!” Victor lashed out with one arm and three ice walls rose from the snow to enclose them. They attacked it with their weapons to no avail.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Victor seized him by the wrists, grip unrelenting. His anger charged through the energy link and scorched up Yuuri’s arms. “Where’s Makkachin?”

Yuuri wrestled away. “Why did you send me back?! You didn’t trust me to defend myself?!” He spoke through a thick, steadily growing lump that closed his throat and burned his eyes. Why did he always have to cry? “You could have told me…”

Victor’s mouth fell open. “You saw the message.”

“No, I didn’t see your stupid message!” Yuuri snapped. ““How did you even know about this, Victor?!”

Victor’s brow furrowed and Yuuri wanted to strangle him.

“How did you know they were coming?!” he asked again, eyes wild.

“Who’s coming?” Victor seized him by the shoulders and Yuuri jammed his palms against his chest, sending him stumbling backwards.

“STOP PLAYING DUMB!” He held his own chest, pressing in between his ribs as though it might calm his heartbeat. “I’m not stupid!” Tears obscured his vision and he tried to blink them away. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?!”

Victor closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he opened them, they shone pensive, but cool. Unflappable. Yuuri hated it.

“You think the elders would let a deserter return without punishment?” he asked. “If you know what’s best for your family, you’ll—”

“I didn’t desert anyone!” Yuuri caught the front of his robes in a fist and Victor didn't move to defend himself. “You betrayed me!” he accused, tears finally creeping into the corners of his eyes and spilling. Victor’s mask broke and he averted his gaze to the snow.

“I worked so hard for this,” Yuuri sobbed. “And you tried to throw everything…” He attempted to grasp for him with his other hand, not out of anger, but stability. He could hardly breathe through the mess of rage, tears and whatever had been choking him from the moment he walked into the shrine. He stumbled forward and Victor caught him, steadying him to a seated position on the ground, aqua eyes still heavy with the same anguish from the night before, deep enough to drown in.

“Breathe,” Victor whispered in his ear, hands brushing gingerly at his dark hair. It felt too soothing and his anger wasn't ready for it, but he couldn't find the strength to push him away.

“Wait…” Yuri started from behind them. “It was you?”

Yuuri froze. He let himself forget they weren’t alone. What would Yuri do if he knew? Would he expose Victor? Panic surged through him. He hated what Victor had done, but he didn’t want that.

“Why the hell would you send him away?!” Yuri asked.

They exchanged glances and the wind whistled, echoing songs across the mountain.

Yuri began to laugh, first uproariously, similar to his glee at Yuuri’s Eros revelation. Over time, it contorted into something dark and bitter.

“You’re pathetic.” He finally said, eyes down, fists trembling. “You really make me sick.”

Victor’s voice came tight and controlled. “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand?!”

A pause. “I didn’t mean—”

“Fuck you, Victor.” Yuri cursed, his voice suddenly uneven, dipping and cracking in all the wrong places. “You never should have been chosen in the first place.”

Snow scattered over the area, catching Yuuri in flecks. Yuri had kicked it, he realized.

“I don’t need to understand shit,” he spat. “I understand that you’re a fucking coward! I understand that I’m stronger than you! Both of you!”

“Yuri...” It was soft, but Yuuri could hear the warning.

“Your plan was fucking useless anyway,” Yuri went on and Yuuri could tell by his tone that he meant to wound. “Because the Goddess will choose me!” He sneered. “The pig can’t even use magic no matter how much you baby him!” He snorted. “Why do you even care? You’re as good as fucked—”

A shadow passed over Yuuri followed by the sounds of movement overhead. He tried to shift himself to see it, but something held him.

“Get off me!” Yuri said and it sounded muffled.

Yuuri grunted. The rebels were coming. They couldn’t waste time fighting each other. He tried to push himself to his feet to diffuse the situation, but he met with a strange pressure bearing down on him. He moaned, falling forward into the snow, chest heaving.

“Yuuri!” Victor called, his voice garbled and far away.

“So fucking needy.” Yuri’s hazy form leaned over him.“What the hell is wrong with you now?”

The pressure grew in his chest until breathing seemed impossible. The world around him rippled and spun in flashes of green ice and white sun. He suddenly wanted to be back on that train, as far from the shrine as it could carry him. Yet a part of him wanted to remain. To wander closer.

“Yuuri.” He caught a sweep of Victor’s silver hair in his peripheral, feathery in the wind.

“Something...” Yuuri’s hands clawed into the snow, sweat breaking and spreading over his brow in tiny dots. “Heavy...” he managed for lack of a better word. “Pulling...”

He hadn’t glanced up, but he could almost read the shock crossing Victor’s features.

“It’s happening.” He spoke quietly as he fell to his knees.

“What’s happening?!” Yuri snapped.

Victor didn’t speak, content to watch Yuuri struggle in the snow, his limbs convulsing.

Yuri’s own breathing hastened. “But... it can’t! How?! He can’t even summon the ice! And you’re not even...” He flung himself away from the scene, teeth grit, fingers pulled taut through his hair.

“I know.” Victor drew a shaky breath. “But he’s showing signs.”

“No...” Yuri shook his head. “Thats not fair!" He hovered over Yuuri. "You just come out of the fucking BLUE and get called before me…”

Yuuri struggled to make sense of the words but he couldn’t find a comfortable position. He settled on turning on his side, his breathing still rapid, energy teeming and pressing over his skin like fire ants.

“See?! He can’t even take it!”

Victor glanced at Yuri overhead. “Maybe you should help him away from the shrine—”

“NO!” Yuuri snapped through the pressure attempting to grind him into the snow. “I can do this...” He struggled to drag his feet under him, pushing his palms against the ground and rising through the invisible cloud. He stood to his feet, breathing heavy. “I can handle it,” he gasped. “Don’t underestimate me...”

“It’s not weakness.” Victor’s tone razored. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?!”

“You don’t even deserve this!” Yuri accused. “You’re a traitor too. I saw you.”

Yuuri turned to him. “What?”

Yuri scanned through his phone, fingers trembling. “Here!” He jutted the device in their faces. “See?! I have evidence! You helped this fucking trash and let them live to tell about it!”

Yuuri swallowed hard. Pictures of him on the back of Emil’s bike. Of him assisting Guang-Hong, Sara and Emil with Leo. He’d only been trying to spare a life, but a biased capitol jury would never buy that. For all anyone knew, they could have been discussing today's attack.

Victor eyed him curiously. As though he hadn’t knowingly turned a blind eye while an army of rebels marched to the capitol door.

Yuuri stumbled toward Yuri. “How did you get those?”

He stepped back. “What’s the point in your creepy as fuck powers if you can’t even take out JJ’s trash?!”

“Yurio—”

A malicious grin slipped over his features. “Do the elders know about this?” His fingers teased over the ‘Share’ button.

“Don’t—”

Victor buried his face in his hands. “Why couldn’t you just stay on the train?”

  
The sky clapped, gaining their rapt attention. They spun toward the sound and gasped as the heavens shifted from pale blue to amber and crimson. The flame spires soared over each mountain peak, bathing them in yellowed light. Yuuri felt the heat against his back, sweltering on his skin. Close. Too close. He had to get away.

He spun in the opposite direction, where the entrance to the very heart of the shrine stood, the Fire God’s prison towering, striking shards into the sky.

“Where are you going?!” Yuri wrenched him backward by the wrist. “We have to fight!”

Logic resurfaced through screaming panic and decade old memories, and he nodded into Yuri’s solemn green eyes. “Right… right.”

“What's going on?!” Victor demanded, turning to them for an answer.

Rage flared and bubbled over Yuuri’s anxiety. How long was he going to keep this shtick up?

Footfalls sloshed through the snow, shadows hovering near the clearing entrance. Yuuri let out a short sigh as Mila walked through, Michele and a host of other guards and soldiers at her side.

“Victor!” she called, obviously relieved, before spotting both Yuris. “What are you two doing here?!”

“It’s alright!” Georgi sprinted around the perimeter of the crater, his ice prison shattered on the opposite end of the clearing. “They should be safe here! The shrine’s barrier—”

A second clap exploded and glowing, blue magic appeared, domed over the entire arena. Slowly at first, but then rapidly, cracks began to spread across its visage. They tore in every direction, picking up speed and slicing through the blue until it shattered to bits. The leftover relics disintegrated and only flame remained overhead.

Yuuri watched in awe as a few flecks of flickering blue drifted to the snow at his feet and then vanished. “What was that?”

“Th— the barrier,” Georgi squeaked.

Mila blinked up at the sky, the shock foreign in her clear, blue eyes. Finally, she turned to the chosen three, arms already shifting into warrior's pose.

“You need to hide.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this like 4 times. Sorry if it's bad. But I think this is the best I can do ^_^'
> 
> Drama takes a lot out of me. Unfortunately, this fic is going to be uber dramatic from here on out. There may be some warnings next chapter. I'll add them to the tags.
> 
> Please leave a comment and kudos if you can, critical or otherwise. Thank you so much for reading ^_^


	19. The Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explosion thundered nearby and his ears rang so loudly he almost forgot about the heat. His knees folded under him.
> 
> “Yuuri!” Phichit’s voice broke through and something collided with his cheek, slapping against the skin. "I need you to walk! Follow my voice!”
> 
> He could do that. Walking. It was just a matter of standing up, one foot in front of the other. He tried wiggling his toes first and then it hit him, the pungent scent of something scorched. Something not meant to burn. He gagged, his head spinning and the world with it.
> 
> The shrine becomes a battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is darker than I first thought it would be. Please DO NOT read if you will be severely disturbed by battle scenes, a brief but graphic depiction of gore, brief violence against animals, JJ being less than perfect, ANGST. SO MUCH ANGST.
> 
> The story gets really dark from here. I was not prepared for it...

Heavy military boots sloshed through the silence, leaving deep pits in the snow. Yuuri kept his eyes firmly rooted down, away from the rain of crimson light. Yellow-orange phantoms danced across the snow, teasing him. Victor’s arm slithered at his side and he batted it away.

“Captain!” Mila called. Chris’s towering physique stood out among the influx of soldiers as he emerged from the ice caverns with a stern brow, Phichit at his side. “Did you find Leroy?”

“We _did_.” Chris groaned, the black of both he and Phichit’s coats worn and melted under the firelight. “Ambushed.” He gazed skyward at the red spires. “Doubt we’ll have to look too much longer though…”

“They reversed the anti-fire barrier around the shrine,” Phichit said. “We need to—” He squinted, focusing over Mila’s shoulder. Yuuri tensed.

“Yuuri?!” Phichit took careful steps toward him as though he might randomly vanish into mist. “What are you doing here?!”

Long story. “I came to protect the shrine.”

“No need.” Chris motioned toward his troops, already using a blend of magic and ice-infused weaponry to start a barricade across the mountaintops, blocking out the flame overhead. “General Lee is heading an attack from the outside. It should hold them off while we secure the shrine.” He turned to face them. “It’ll be safe for you in the caverns.”

“Safe?” Yuri and Victor asked at once.

Victor laughed, loud and incredulous. “You haven’t even told me what’s going on and you expect me to hide!”

Yuuri’s fingers folded into fists. How long was he going to keep up this charade? He could call him out right here in front of everyone. Have him arrested and branded a traitor. And yet…

“Victor,” A knowing smile crossed Chris’s lips. “I know you like to be on top, love, but this is my arena. It’s my job to protect you.”

“Chris.” Victor pouted. “I’m offended. You don’t think I’m good enough to work under you?”

“I’ll admit I’ve always dreamed about it…”

Yuri made a face and Yuuri felt himself mirroring it.

“But you’ve never walked a battlefield.” Chris’s expression sobered. “None of you have.”

Victor nodded toward the barrier in progress. The ice stretched lazily over the clearing, the barricade not even halfway complete. “Looks like you could use our help with that.”

The muscles around Chris’s lips tightened and he gave a short sigh. “Fine.” He leaned into Victor, arms crossed. “But if you die at Leroy’s hand, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“There are worse ways to die,” Victor winked, unruffled as ever. His eyes found Yuuri and a bit of the calm seeped from them. “But Yuuri should go. He isn’t feeling—”

“I’m fine!” Yuuri snapped, sharp as a shot. He hoped they didn’t notice the force of his heart beneath his jacket, the tremor rocking his frame. “I’m staying too.”

“Yuuri—!”

“I’m staying!” Yuuri lifted his gaze and whatever Victor gathered there quieted the protests on his lips. Chris glanced between them, brow raised. He opened his mouth to speak when a shadow fell over the clearing.

Another shadow joined at its side. Then another. And another. Yuuri’s chest grew tight as the narrow sky beyond the mountains darkened completely, dozens of figures hovering about the peaks.

Lengthy flame totems erected from their grips like spears. Their free hands raised overhead, fingers pursed together in the rebel symbol. They wore stark white robes, pure and unmarred.

One spear loomed higher and burned brighter than the rest. The red light reflected against blue eyes and, even from a distance, Yuuri could see the assurance there, not a hint of doubt. He’d come to conquer.

JJ wore the same white robes, but a cloak of pure flame graced his shoulders, billowing and licking at the air behind him.

The rebels joined in a chant, repeating a word Yuuri’s ears recognized from somewhere on the other edge of the world, whispers he’d picked up on streets he couldn’t name. Broken shards of strangers’ conversations.

Chris’s troops ceased to barricade the shrine. It was too late for that. Every dancer in sight assumed warrior’s stance. Non-elementals grasped their weapons.

Both Yuris tensed and when Victor’s hands squeezed at their shoulders, neither shrugged away.

“STOP!” JJ announced from above, his arms raised high. His followers silenced at once.

“It’s!” The spear in his hand vanished into smoke and he drew his arms in to create the same hand gesture from his security break video. “King JJ!”

“I fucking hate this guy,” Yuri grumbled.

“What a blessed day,” JJ went on and the rebels cheered. The ground of the shrine remained quiet, Chris stretching out his palms to warn his regiment against an outright attack.

“Don’t look so morose!” JJ called to them. “All of you have been chosen to take part in something special, the coming of our god.” The rod materialized in his hand again and he raised it high. The rest mimicked him.

“Many have tried to free him and many have failed,” he gestured to himself. “Only I have succeeded this far. Only I can succeed.” His eyes took on a manic glint. “I am the chosen one! HIS KING!”

A chorus of squeals and battlecries rang across the mountaintop. “JJ! JJ! JJ!”

“Did you think he would stay locked away in silence while you kept the land cold and buried? Did you think he wouldn’t fight back?!”

More cheering.

“Our god is more clever than that,” JJ smiled and everything about him seemed to burn, from his words, rich and deep with conviction, to the curve of his shoulders and lips, ever rising. “He bid his time for centuries. Focused all of his magic into me. His perfect warrior.”

“The Flame Primaja.” Yuuri’s mouth went dry with it, harsh and cracking against his tongue. Voices rose up about the clearing to echo him.

“Silence!” JJ bellowed and it reverberated ruthlessly across the mountains. The fire’s red refractions in his eyes took on a life of their own, darkening and deepening to blood. “We’ll use your words no longer!”

The chanting grew.

“I am something greater than a ‘flame primaja’,” he scoffed. “Greater than your chosen. Than all elementals before me!” He launched both arms out like wings and his magic flared, the flame cloak spreading to curtain the mountains’ entire curve, a blinding hot backdrop behind the rebels. “I am Anakti!”

Anakti. The whisper from the Eastlands. The dark, secret prayer he’d only heard in passing. How long had the fire folk been waiting for their savior?

Yuri turned to Chris, frost already circling at his fingertips. “How long are we gonna let this asshole go on?”

“I agree for once,” Mila grunted, her own power growing and emanating outward, raising the hairs on Yuuri’s neck.

“Relax!” JJ waved at them. “This doesn’t have to end in ashes. Stand down and surrender! We will cleanse you in God’s flame and it will be glorious!”

“That sounds a lot like ending in ashes to me,” Phichit whistled lowly. “Chris?”

A scream echoed from above.

Yuuri jerked upward to see the figure of a rebel falling forward from the peak. He tumbled headlong into the clearing below, landing with a sickening thud just meters away. The ice spear in his back splintered and shattered to pieces as his body hit the ground. Back up at the summit, a rush of capitol soldiers in helmets charged through the flame to confront the rebels, red and blue insignias emblazoned on their jackets. Seung-gil’s men.

More screams joined not long after, blending with fevered chanting. Some rebels remained to fight Seung-gil’s faction while others dove into gorge, sliding downward toward the shrine, spears flaming.

Chris’s troops buzzed about Yuuri with orders and strategy. ‘You take this area’ and ‘You’ll head them off here’. ‘You’ll barricade the heart’ and Goddess, it was sweltering… Yuuri took to staring at the snow again, but he could still smell flame. Could feel it, hot and thick in his lungs.

“Yuuri!”

He heard it, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. He tried and that only made for faster, harder breathing. Suffocated, burning gasps. He felt arms at his side, helping him along, and now he was moving. An explosion thundered nearby and his ears rang so loudly he almost forgot about the heat. His knees folded under him.

“Yuuri!” Phichit’s voice broke through and something collided with his cheek, slapping against the skin. "I need you to walk! Follow my voice!”

He could do that. Walking. It was just a matter of standing up, one foot in front of the other. He tried wiggling his toes first and then it hit him, the pungent scent of something scorched. Something not meant to burn. He gagged, his head spinning and the world with it.

“I’ll handle it,” Phichit said and then Yuuri didn’t hear him anymore, losing his voice somewhere in the cacophony of loud, frenzied shouting. Of shifting frost and earth. Crackling and hissing.

An arm slipped around his waist, pressing soothing waves into him. Only one person’s touch could do that. Irritation swelled within him, weighing against the calm. Victor had assumed he wasn’t capable or strong enough to face this. So far, he was proving him right.

 _Snap out of it!_ he scolded himself, but no matter how he willed it, the disconnect between his mind and body remained. He pushed to the point of pouring sweat and labored breathing, but that only seemed to make Victor fuss over him. He soon surrendered to his prison, trying to phase out the cries, the heat, the smell… His eyes trained on the shadow and red-hued light dancing across the snow, a visual lullaby.

Victor hissed. A few seconds later, his arm slipped away and his energy with it.

“Victor,” he breathed, panic piercing through the numb. His senses focused in like a lens, the battle sounds falling harsh on his ears, scalding winds speckled with embers gusting through his hair and skin. The swell of agency filled his limbs again and he used it to lean forward, clumsily falling onto his hands and knees in the snow. A shadow fell over him.

“Shouldn’t you be hiding?” A woman asked. “I didn’t expect you to make it so easy after last time.”

Yuuri knew that voice... He crooked his neck up to see billowing black hair against a backdrop of blinding orange and bluish white in motion. Solemn violet eyes bored into him.

“Sara...” he whispered. She stepped forward and he had no escape, solid mountain at his back. Phichit and Victor had vanished. He scanned for them in the chaotic slew of bodies and hurling elements. Nothing.

“You’re the Goddess’s chosen,” She said as though she’d forgotten it herself. The stone gaze faltered for barely a second. “I can’t let you live. You understand that.” She lifted her arms in a strength dancing pose, fingers sprawled in a globe-like shape. “Thank you for Leo.”

Yuuri shielded himself. “Wait!”

“Sara!”

Michele raced toward them, weapon in hand.

“Mickey,” she grunted, lips turning under.

“How could you do this?!” He thrusted the gun between Sara and Yuuri, the barrel flirting dangerously close to her chest. She kept her hands raised, still focused downward at her mark.

“Did Leroy force you?!” Michele growled. “I’ll kill that bastard!”

A heavy sigh. “No one’s forcing me to do anything.”

“Th— Then how—”

“You know what I am!” She snapped around to face him with wild eyes. “How could you expect me to be happy here?!”

He opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it. The wrinkle in his brow and the set of his mouth slackened in defeat. “…if we had kept it a secret... I could have protected you—”

“They took Emil and you did nothing!” she cried, tears spilling. “You would have left him to die if we hadn’t come!”

Michele swallowed down something thick and his gaze shifted to the snow. Yuuri’s heart clenched. _You did nothing._

“If you hurt Katsuki,” Michele started, his tone low. “You know what I have to do.”

A pensive smile curved over her features and her lips quivered as she reached out to touch him, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You won’t kill me, Mickey.”

The signature hardness in Michele’s eyes unthawed and they went soft. Softer than Yuuri had ever seen them and he knew she was right.

Sara turned back to him, her aim solid and steady. He braced.

“I will.”

Sara and Michele cried out as a pale green, glassy platform launched from the ground beneath their feet, propelling them several meters in the air.

Yuuri scrambled away on instinct, watching as the platform rose even higher. Mila stood beside it, slapping her hands together and admiring her handiwork. She turned to wink at him.

“I’ll take care of her, Yuuri,” she called, dodging a jet of flame. “Get to the caverns.”

He remembered Phichit’s abrupt departure. Victor’s pained hissing. “But—”

“GO!” she cried as Sara leapt from the ice tower, eyes ablaze.

Yuuri took off across the mountains’ perimeter, staying close to the rock and using the Goddess’s energy as a forcefield when stray ice shards came his way. He alternated between holding his breath against the smell of seared earth and flesh, and drawing in deep, heat tinged gusts when he couldn’t bear it any longer. His vision went bright and saturated, snow blending with rock blending with flame. His muscles ached and a thick acidity clung to his insides. Everything in him wanted to disconnect again, to fall back into that unreachable pit. He needed motivation. Something to hold on to.

“Victor!” he called, scanning the field frantically, the name alone keeping him alert. “Phichit!”

Not a glimpse. Bursts of fire... ice arches... A prone lump. He stopped dead before the figure at his boots. It was unclear which side the man had belonged to, the cloth at his back charred and frayed beyond recognition. His rear and limbs melded in a hideous mess of black and pink, brunette patches where a full head of hair no doubt used to be. Yuuri doubted he’d be recognizable from the front. Not that he could check if he wanted to.

His world tipped and he swayed to the side, the cries and attacks in his ears drowning in a resonating vacuum. His vision swam, a mess of frightful colors converging together. He heard himself scream, felt his limbs jostling backward beneath him. He had to get away. Didn’t want to touch it this time.

_He ran trembling hands over the charred remains as though it would help anything, the fur already singed to dust._

_“Yuuri, don’t!” Fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him back._

_"Vicchan..."_

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

“You.”

He blinked the world back into focus, but the ground still tilted under him. He stumbled into someone’s grip. Brown, conflicted eyes stared back.

Fingers reached up to clench around his neck and Yuuri recognized him. The boy who sobbed on the palace floor in his flame retardant suit, who trembled over Leo’s unconscious form, the pink scar peeking out from his collar.

The memories were not merciful enough to remain long and they evaporated, leaving him with the afterimage of the burned man seared across his mind, of Vicchan, black and ruined. He relaxed against the hold, the boy’s palm pressing against his windpipe. A small, clouded spot of his mind screamed at him to push away. His body felt all too content to remain. To welcome it.

_You deserve this._

Guang Hong drew him close and warm breath tickled his ear.

“Run.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened and reality slammed back into him. He doubled back to gape at him. The boy’s hands sank to his side and tightened into fists.

“I can’t do it.” He bit his lip harshly as if punishing himself before snapping up at Yuuri. “Go! Now!”

Yuuri listened, pushing away and stumbling past him, dangerously close to the crater’s edge. His vision still rippled, hazy and surreal, as the ground transitioned from pliant snow to hard rock. Then it gave away completely. He fell, tumbling downward into the gulf toward the Fire God’s prison where even the Primaja didn’t venture, limbs skidding against the grey stone and soil.

He lost momentum after long, laid out on his back against the incline, the eerie silence of the tomb pressing on his ears.

The battle still raged above him, screams and explosions echoing in a far off dream. This was better. Distant. Like listening in on a conversation from a locked room or watching one of Phichit’s less racy vlogs. Safe. He could stay here like this. He could plunge further down.

Through the crossing ice spires, he peered up at the blinding crimson and pale blue fray, watching as the capitol’s best risked life and limb to defend the prison at the heart.

And here he lie.

Yuuri closed his eyes and the cerulean of Victor’s gaze flickered beneath the lids. Frustration whipped through him. He would find Victor and he would fight. He’d prove that he wasn’t justified in sending him away.

“I’m not weak,” Yuuri grunted, pushing himself from the snow coated dirt and rock, eying the incline. “You told me that,” he chuckled to himself. “I’m not—”

A jet of flame shot across the length of the crater overhead and he flinched, eyes shutting. The insides of his lids colored bright red and panic roiled at his insides, forcing him back to the dirt. Heat settled in and a desperate, guttural noise ripped from his throat, reverberating from the crater walls. His fingers found their way around his mother’s pendant and he drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

Useless.

“Watch this, Otabek!”

Yuuri glanced up at the crater’s rim to see the the Ice Tiger mid-spin, enacting a warrior’s dance. Yuri was a Westlands child, but if fire scared him, he certainly didn’t show it.

_I’m stronger than you. Both of you._

A sad smile ghosted over Yuuri’s lips. Perhaps he’d been right.

Frost funneled from Yuri’s open palms and leapt into the air. A figure began to form within its vortex, elegant and majestic. The likeness of a snow leopard, lurching forward with outstretched shards for claws. The intricate blend of mist and razors bared its claws under Yuri’s command. If the following scream was any indication, he’d hit his mark.

“Yeah, that’s right!” The boy roared. “You better run!”

“Stop being so dramatic!” Otabek’s voice came over the chaos, a long, black, ice-infused weapon in hand. “You’ll get distracted!” Fire lashed out, catching him from the side and he spun around to engage his attacker.

“Speak for yourself!” Yuri started another dance, the glittering frost trails at his fingertips taking form— no doubt another wildcat— when Yuuri noticed a familiar figure approaching at his back. His eyes went wide.

“Yurio!”

Fire snaked around the blond’s ankles and spiraled up his form to create a whirling flame prison. Yuri moved to escape and hissed immediately, flinching back to the center of his cage. He stilled, brows creasing, teeth grit.

“Looks like I found the capitol’s kitten!” JJ sauntered toward him. “I’m surprised they let you out to play, princess.”

“What the fuck did you just say?!”

“Sorry,” JJ laughed, sounding anything but. “Prince. It’s an easy mistake.”

“I’ll kill you!” Yuri roared and a fierce blend of ice swirled around him. It melted easily under JJ’s flame. The roiling prison began to thicken at its height, flame slowly descending onto Yuri.

“Yuri—!” Otabek called before his assailant rammed into him with the barrel of a fire rod, forcing him to the ground.

Yuri cursed, dropping to his knees and Yuuri moved forward instinctively, numbed arms and legs scaling the crater.

“No need to kneel in my presence,” JJ chuckled, obviously pleased at his own joke.

Yuri scoffed. “We’ll see how funny you think I am when I put you on ice, you flaming piece of shit!”

“Put me on ice?” He blinked. “You haven’t even killed one of my disciples. You’ve spared them all.”

Yuri froze, speechless.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” JJ bounced a fireball in his palm. “It’s alright. Not everyone possesses the mental fortitude to eradicate for their cause.” A patient grin spread over his countenance. As though he were doing Yuri a favor. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Fuck you.” Yuri attacked the flame tornado with a particularly strong ice blast. The frost evaporated instantly.

“I pity you,” JJ bowed his head. “You were the mere puppet of a heartless goddess.” He spread his arms toward the heavens. “I’ll free you of this burden now.”

“Yuri…” Otabek struggled desperately to stand, teeth gritted as he toppled again beneath the rod.

“This will only hurt for a moment,” JJ said and the flame in his palm funneled toward the spirals of Yuri’s prison, broadening them. Yuri curled into a ball.

“Wait!”

Yuuri reached the ledge of the crater, the long guardscoat heavy with ice water and dirt. The fireball in JJ’s palm fizzled and then died, as did Yuri’s prison.

“Oh,” JJ grinned and it was pure arrogance. “The piglet has come to face me as well? Were you waiting there the entire time for a chance at the chosen king?”

“Leave him alone.” Yuuri pulled himself up and started toward JJ, focusing his thoughts on Yuri. Not on the humidity drifting across the terrain and sinking into his skin. Or the building crescendo of cries wailing in the distance. Not on that godawful smell. “You said it didn’t have to end in ashes,” he almost growled, the image of the scorched man still fresh in his memory. “We can talk about this.”

“The Fire God is merciful,” JJ said. “We’ll spare your people where we can, but you are the Goddess’s instrument, created to oppress.” His expression went somber and he lifted his hand. “You must be cleansed.”

Yuuri opened his arms and his power broke forward, lashing out of him and surging across the field. It licked at his skin, whipping the ends of his hair and his coattails.

JJ stumbled back and, perhaps for the first time, uncertainty flashed across his countenance.

“Whoa,” he laughed it off. The firestarter sparing with Otabek had paused to stare, his flame spear vanished.

“You know,” JJ started, blue eyes flickering with a new mania. “There’s the most interesting rumor about you...” He advanced on him, hands smoothing out the white material of his robes.

“I can’t use my element,” Yuuri finished, surprising himself with the firmness of his voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

JJ’s eyes narrowed, lips going taut. His arms drifted upward in a languid, circular motion and, even with the less formal movements of a fire dancer, Yuuri recognized it. A strength summoning dance. JJ transitioned to warrior’s stance, raising his hand to summon flame.

Yuuri braced for impact. _Goddess, give me strength._

No attack came.

“What?” JJ whispered, pulling his hands in and staring at them as though they’d doubled in size. “What is this?”

An ice lasso caught him around the middle and jerked him to the ground.

Yuri yanked it roughly for good measure. “Who’s kneeling now?”

A tight circle began to form around them. Otabek’s opponent moved forward with more firestarters, their long white robes leaving ridged trails in the snow. Leo and Guang Hong joined, watching him from the sidelines. Yuuri took in their deliberate movements, their vigilant, blazing eyes, and he waited for the panic to set in.

Seconds passed and he felt… steady. The mysterious courage that sustained him during his more intense practices or shows, that intoxicated him with the Goddess’s power, ebbed through him, strong and electric. He focused, not on the singed black flesh of a weathered memory he couldn’t expunge. Not of Victor’s betrayal or JJ’s unfaltering arrogance. He thought only of the passions they inspired. Of what he had to do now.

The circle of rebels poised themselves, concentration wrinkling their features. It soon gave way to confusion.

“What’s happening?” the choked whispers began.

“I can’t summon anything…”

“What is he?!”

“Anakti!” a woman with an orange and yellow buzzcut cried. “What is this?!”

JJ didn’t respond, still staring at his own trembling hands. “I…”

Yuuri didn’t have a better answer, his own features slack with shock. He shouldn’t have the ability to repress another elemental’s magic. That wasn’t a Primaja's right. But then the Goddess had always been especially generous with him in every area besides where it counted…

“Yuuri! Yurio!”

Yuri glowered at the figure pushing into the circle.“You’re a little late, old man.”

Victor’s hair bounced in a messy bun behind him, the traditional robes melted and tattered in places. A reddish pink splotch stretched down the side of his neck, sickly and boiled. He clasped arms with Yuuri, the familiar energy enclosing him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Yuuri breathed, leaning in to rest his forehead at his chest. Victor’s energy teemed through him, diluting whatever fear and doubt remained, blurring painful images and filling in the cracks where they’d been etched.

This is Victor’s fault, he reminded himself. Victor caused this.

He focused instead on the fresh wound on the Primaja’s neck. reached out to brush against it. Victor winced, eyes shutting in pain.

“You’re hurt,” Yuuri said, his power flaring and expanding out from his person, stirring the snow and fighting the wind. “Who did it?” He’d find them. Destroy them.

 _No!_ He shook his head, frightened at his own thoughts. Where had that come from?

The crowd of fire starters chiseled their king free of Yuri’s chain and pulled him back, cushioning him safely within their folds.

“If we can’t use fire,” A man pulled a blade from a pouch at the waist of his robes, eyes on Yuuri. “We’ll do this the manual way.”

“Stand back.” Victor moved to cover him, his hands already misting with frost.

Yuuri closed his eyes to concentrate, bending his back and swiveling his arms in a warrior’s dance Phichit taught him ages ago. Power exploded from him, knocking Victor off balance and sending the firestarters careening backward into their king. They skidded through the snow, some of them tumbling headfirst into the crater.

Victor blinked up at him with bewildered eyes and he offered his hand.

“Get behind me,” he told him, eying the oncoming rush of firestarters charging straight in their direction.

Yuuri repelled them easily, his power surging forward in strong, undulating waves. They could do nothing against him, their flame vanished. They stared in horrified awe at their hands, praying and cursing. Yuuri couldn’t help but pity them. He knew the feeling.

“How is he doing it?!” Georgi cried, watching as Yuuri repelled firestarter after firestarter, rendering their magic useless. “I’ve never seen anyone use the Goddess’s power like this!”

“Worry about it later!” Chris commanded. “Move in now! While they’re focused on Yuuri!”

The military advanced from every side, emerging from the mountain bases and caverns and sliding down from the peaks. Otabek and Georgi rushed Yuri and Victor off to the side and Yuuri remained, the all consuming energy building with every wave until no elemental— ice nor fire— dared to approach him.

“Leroy's getting away!” Michele called and every head turned to see the Anakti scaling the mountains with a crowd of his followers, hands and feet flying rapidly over the rock. Chris’s soldiers started after him, hurling ice spears, shards and whatever else they could manage in his direction. JJ hurried his speed, scrambling even faster for the summit.

“I want him alive!” Chris shouted over the chaos, so many sharp objects sailing in JJ’s direction that they were sure to eviscerate him. JJ finally halted halfway up the mountain, sweat heavy on his brow. As the tumult of deadly frost descended on him, he raised his arm in a quick motion and fire exploded from his being. With the flame and ice combined, the entire right mountainside vanished into heated mist.

Yuuri’s eyes widened mid-dance. So the effect of this new ability was only temporary. JJ’s element had only abandoned him so long as he stood under Yuuri’s power.

“King JJ!” The chaos grew to a crescendo, rebels flinging themselves onto the mountains, frantically racing into the burning mist, too scalding for any ice or non -elementals who attempted to follow.

“Abort!” Sara cried into a phone, as she sprinted into the cloud, vanishing. Others carried their injured into the mists in groups.

Yuuri went on dancing within the bubble he’d formed, wind whipping violently around him. He didn’t know exactly why he continued. Only that his energy had mounted to such a maddening itch beneath his skin that he felt he could do nothing else to scratch it, but go on. Phichit’s warrior dances barely seemed enough. He needed something more potent. Thirsted for it. Orge crossed his mind when he noticed a motionless glower penetrating him from across the snow, green and scowling.

The trance broke and Yuuri halted mid-pose. Chris’s eyes still locked on him as he approached, but they seemed less malicious than they’d been just seconds ago. Had he imagined it?

“Alright?”

Yuuri gave a slow nod, realizing for the first time how harshly his heart pounded, how the sweat dripped from his jaw in pools. He breathed in quick, sharp gusts. How long would he have danced if Chris hadn’t snapped him out of it?

He fell back against the snow, his body suddenly heavy and aching. A similar exhaustion dragged at Chris’s shoulders, but he carried it well, calling out orders as, little by little, the rebels filtered out after their king. Non-elemental rebels were left to seek escape at the other end of the mountains or risk the caverns.

Soon only the capitol military remained, subduing prisoners they’d managed to trap and collecting the dead.

Victor sat, oddly stoic, against the mountain base, the wind teasing at the tattered gossamer robes and unraveling his bun. He stared off into the distance as a group of medics tended to his wounds. Yuri vomited into the snow just steps away. Otabek massaged at his back and kept his hair from his eyes.

Yuuri wasn’t certain what to do. He’d just subdued a rebel army and chased out their king. He stood on a sacred shrine turned graveyard— charred dirt, jutting ice monstrosities and bloodied snow at his feet. Pride settled somewhere under a thick sheen of grime and guilt.

“How are you feeling now?” Chris drew him from the fog.

Yuuri shook his head. “Weird.”

“Sounds about right,” He offered him a flask, serpent-like engravings dancing across the silver. Yuuri took it immediately, swigging a good third of it down before Chris could reclaim it. His features scrunched, eyes watering. Dark liquor.

“I’d say you should have stayed at the palace,” Chris chuckled. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

Yuuri nodded, eyes trained on Mila as she and a dozen other capitol soldiers caged an especially spirited group of fire elementals against the mountains, threatening them with ice spears and ice-infused weapons. Discomfort settled in the pit of his stomach and he wasn’t certain why. His eyes traveled down to where Chris tapped rhythmically at the flask’s silver, to the black band on his wrist, and it hit him.

“You… okay?” he asked, following Chris’s unflinching eyes to the scene, his gaze uncharacteristically muted. Cold. When he turned to face him, it softened a bit.

“Always,” Chris replied, taking a swig from the flask. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just…” Yuuri fidgeted. “They’re…” He stopping short of saying ‘your people’. He supposed Chris’s people were whichever he chose. But he was still fireborn. Even if JJ’s army was mad to want to resurrect their god and bring forth the volcanic age, didn’t it feel odd to lead a team of iceborn against them?

Chris studied him for a bit, his lips turning up in the vague impression of a grin. “Sometimes the right path is a little less…” The tapping against the flask increased. “…straightforward, Yuuri.” He gave him a pat on the shoulder before standing to his feet. “You’ll learn that soon enough.”

“Yuuri!”

A wide smile cracked over Yuuri’s lips. “Phichit!” He broke forward, throwing his arms around his best friend. “I’m sorry about earlier…”

“I get it, Yuuri,” Phichit gave him a squeeze. “And besides, you made up for it!” He clamped his hands on his shoulders, eyes sparkling. “That was amazing! I got the whole thing on video!”

“Video?!” Yuuri nearly choked. “Phichit!”

“There’s no way you’re just any Primaja!” Phichit’s fingers were already on his phone and opening his camera reel. “The Goddess must have picked you for something special!”

Goosebumps prickled over Yuuri’s skin. Special? Wasn’t Primaja special enough?

“How’s it looking out there?” Chris asked.

Phichit still stared at the phone. “The rebels are fleeing the city after JJ. We’re temporarily holding POWs in the square with everyone else in custody.”

“Any location on Leroy?”

“No,” Phichit started to frown when a sudden smile broke over his features. “We got his _fiancee_ though! Isabella Yang! Can you believe it?!”

Yuuri’s eyes ballooned, the memory of her piercing gaze and red lips still unnerving him.

“Rumor has it, she was using her media job to get info and make broadcasting inside Glacilis easier for the rebels.”

“And Okukawa?”

“She’s still under watch.” Phichit’s gaze flit to Yuuri.

Yuuri froze. Then he snorted. No. It was a common enough surname. They meant someone else. “Okukawa?”

Phichit glanced back at his phone. Chris sucked in a breath and blinked at him once before sighing. “Minako.”

The name hit him right in the gut.

“She was using Andrez to inform the rebels. It’s how they got in and took the barrier out.” Chris shrugged. “We suspected she might do something like this for a while now.” He shot Yuuri a smirk. “She’s a hell of a spy. I’ll give her that.”

Yuuri remembered the head of security at the Winter Ball, intoxicated with liquor and the wiles of his dance instructor. How they’d spent week after week in each other’s arms, laughing. Sharing secrets.

He shook his head. Not Minako. “She’s always been loyal to the Goddess. She wouldn’t...”

“People can be unpredictable, Yuuri.” Phichit said, eyes glued to his phone screen. “A lot of people think that her ‘accident’ wasn’t…” He bit his lips. “… so much an accident, you know?”

“No!” Yuuri snapped and Phichit flinched. He sighed. What was the use in arguing with them? He would go to the square. He would hear it from her mouth and put this entire joke to rest.

He started for the caverns, past the stretchers and the wounded, eyes dead set on his destination. Several voices called his name and he ignored them, marching so quickly he nearly slipped on the pale green ice underfoot.

Victor was the informant. He was JJ’s ‘in’. Or else, how had he known? Minako had nothing to do with this because that would be ludicrous. It would be too much.

He passed the likeness of the two deities, passed Otabek’s totaled sled and Yuri’s broken ice barricades. His breathing was ragged by the time he reached the square, still just as grey and dead as earlier. Not as many soldiers stood guard with the threat level depleted and JJ gone, a number of civilians trickling back in. Most of them crowded about the base of the tallest sculpture, the Goddess molded in pallid blue ice, her back arched in dance, hands lifting to grace the sky.

Guards surrounded the golden platform at her feet, guns in hand and eyes wary. They patrolled a newly erected structure, circular with sickles striking up from the ground to trap their contents within. He spotted her immediately in the group of prisoners, always a standout, her long chestnut hair without sign of a scuffle, arms bound behind her.

“Minako!” He raced forward, ignoring the guards’ calls for him to stop and maneuvering around them. He jammed his palms against the prison spikes, pushing himself forward as if the ice would bend and allow him entrance.

“Yuuri!” She smiled, entirely too calm for a shackled woman. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you before—”

“They said you helped the rebels!” The words cracked from his tongue like a whip and her expression blanked. He waited for it to morph. For shock and offense. Denial.

Her features remained void and his last remaining tie to sanity, to a world that made sense, ripped and disintegrated. “No…” He crumbled against the bars.

She nodded, eyes resolute.

“Wh— What?” he choked, fingers pressing so harshly into the ice bars that they splintered and cut into his flesh. “Why?!”

She leaned forward, her voice low. “You don’t understand—”

“I know that!” He slammed his palms against the bars and her eyes widened. “So tell me! Tell me something!”

Minako nibbled at her bottom lip, brow knitted. After a moment, she breathed in deeply, eyes begging him for something unknown “I thought if JJ could free the Fire God, it wouldn’t... you wouldn’t have to—”

The ice around the bars expanded and lashed out to envelope her, rising like spring waters over her shoulders and toward her lips.

“Minako!” Yuuri gasped.

“Don’t listen to her.” Seung-gil stood at his side, frost trailing from his fingertips. “She’s a traitor and a threat to Glacilis. She always has been.”

An empty soda can knocked against the cage and Yuuri jerked toward the direction it had come from. A steady crowd was building, disenchanted guards and civilians alike, their features contorted in anger.

“Deserter!”

“Traitor Primaja!”

“I always knew it!”

More trash and a few dirtied snowballs flew over his shoulders and into Minako’s prison. He gawked at them. Minako had always been loyal to the Goddess. Or at least, she’d always been loyal to him. She was a good teacher. She’d let he and Yuuko use her studio to practice silly pop routines and pole dancing. She screamed the loudest at all of his performances from behind the largest banner.

This couldn’t be happening…

“Stop!” he cried, his power rushing forward and quaking the ground beneath him. The mob silenced instantly. He spun back to her with wild eyes, begging her to take it all back, waiting for the taunting smile to break over her lips— another liquor fueled gag. He’d roll his eyes, but he’d begrudgingly laugh with her. She’d tease him for being so easy and then, he could breathe again.

“Minako?”

“It’s fine, Yuuri.” she said, cracking the ice seal with her own magic, the white mask shattering around her person. “They’re right.” She addressed the sea of angry leers with nothing akin to shame. “It wasn’t an accident! I wanted to die! I did it on purpose!”

The crowd gasped as though they hadn’t just accused her moments before. Yuuri’s mouth fell open.

A blend of laughter and a sigh escaped her throat, her head falling against the bars. “That felt good to get out,” she breathed. Rearing back, she drew in a deep breath. “Screw the Goddess!” she released, more spirited than Yuuri had ever seen her sober. “I owe her nothing!”

The crowd went wild, jeering louder than before, more trash and snow hurling in their direction. Seung-gil and his guards pushed past Yuuri, demolishing a few of the ice sickles and burrowing through to seize Minako. She laughed and laughed, tears streaming from her eyes, even as they doubled the restraints, even as they dragged her toward a military car and forced her in. Yuuri stared helplessly after her, shoulders heavy with everything. They locked eyes.

“Don’t forget your promise!” she cried, disappearing inside the confines of the vehicle, three guards crowding in after her.  
Promise?

He watched as the car sped away, one thousand jagged edged thought fragments cutting through his mind and never forming a whole. Okukawa Minako. Primaja. The woman who’d molded him into a proper dancer. A traitor? It didn’t fit.

“Katsuki!” The crowd surrounded him, their leers and glares evaporated, hands clear of ammunition.

A stocky guard with a crooked, reddish beard, clasped down on his shoulders. “I heard you defeated the rebels on your own!”

“Can I touch your hand?!”

“Katsuki!”

He let them close in, unmoving as the car disappeared around a side street.

“Yuuri!” This one snapped him out of his daze, more desperate and panicked than the rest, a bizarre dissonance over the flood of congratulations and praise. He looked over his shoulder.

Victor stood at the narrow opening of the shrine, features twisted in urgency. “Yuuri!”

Yakov appeared at his side, livid, shouting about something or other. He tugged him back along the narrow mountain path. Chris perched beside him, whispering into his ear, mossy eyes on Yuuri all the while.

“You won’t have to worry about him any longer.” Yuuri flinched at Seung-gil’s cool tone. “The elders know what he’s done.”

Victor’s eyes lingered on him as he vanished further into the chasm and Yuuri moved for the shrine. The crowd blocked him immediately, collapsing on him, clasped hands and admiring gazes at every turn.

“Two treasonous Primaja exposed in one day,” Seung-gil fixed vacant eyes on Yuuri, a bitter smirk on his lips. “What’s the world coming to?”

The crowd’s whispers surrounded him, pressing on his ears and into his aching skull. ‘Savior’ they called him. ‘Warrior Primaja.’

What indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually written the next 3 chapters. I joined a word count contest in April and wrote about 35,000 words, which includes a Yurio crack oneshot that should be up soon.
> 
> I wanted to win so much that I didn't edit anything so I am just getting to it now! (My team lost :( But I won in individual word count!)
> 
> Anyway, as always, please let me know if anything is confusing for you so I can clear it up. I have realized that I have an INCREDIBLY convoluted plot going on here and I apologize for that ^_^' I do. It seemed like a great idea at the time. I've probably already written like 20 plotholes. I actually caught one last month and edited it. Heheh.
> 
> Also as always, please leave comments and kudos if you can. I love feedback (who doesn't?!) Thank you so much for reading.


	20. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor pressed their foreheads together, pushing into Yuuri as though he could melt within him, eyes glistening. “I think I loved you.”
> 
> After months of eluded questions, Yuuri finally gets an answer. Though it's not one he would have hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I've been sitting on this knowledge forever. Time to start the descent into conclusion madness. MMboi...
> 
> Also, please check out this fic inspired by The Last Dancer byfromstarlighttodust:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14542302/chapters/33600795
> 
> If you're really sick of Victor being an asshole and just want to see him get his comeuppance, it's the fic for you! And it's a hilarious one.

Silence crushed in on Yuuri, almost as suffocating as the stuffy, warm air itself. He decided he didn’t much like The Elder’s Quarter. It embodied everything he hated about the capitol from the almost eerie purity and perfection of the sparkling stone ceiling and polished dark wood walls to the ever present veil of quiet hiding Goddess knows what in its folds. Yuuri betted that this chamber alone held more secrets than Victor and Minako combined. He could only hope the council summoned him today to share for once.

With most of the guards and military busy securing the capitol again and heading after JJ under Chris’s charge, the Elder Circle was his only hope for answers. Yuri seemed even more grumpy than usual, tight lipped and dismissive whenever the battle came up. Michele stayed behind, but he’d been distant and melancholy. He kept to himself most of the time and rarely spoke, not even to rant about Sara.

Victor vanished to wherever the Goddess whisked him off after the ritual.  A week had passed and Yuuri's only positive company amounted to a band of hamsters Phichit had left him to watch over and Makkachin. She was energetic as always, but anyone could see that she missed Victor, staring at doors and snapping to attention when someone spoke his name

Yuuri’s feelings were more complex. He missed Victor like he missed the Goddess’s power surging beneath his skin to possess him. It frightened him more than any flame, but with every close call, he found himself yearning for the weight of it. Needing to feel it at his core taking hold of him again.

“The council will see you now.”

He tried not to feel too intimidated as he wandered past the guard and into the dark hall that preceded The Elder Circle. Celestino had assured him that he wasn’t in trouble. He hadn’t kidnapped himself, after all, and he’d saved the shrine. The rebels fled Glacilis soon after JJ, leaving fewer casualties than they suffered.

Yuuri wasn’t so confident about Victor’s fate. He hadn’t spoken a word of the Primaja's betrayal, but the elders seemed to just _know_ in that secret way through which everyone in the capitol seemed privy to things. Everyone but Yuuri.

When he reached the plain, rounded room at the end of the hall, Lady Baranovskaya and Elder Feltsman were at each other’s throats, faces red and splotchy.

“You knew it, didn’t you?!” she said, rising from the table, black fur skirts billowing around her. “He told you and you said nothing!”

“Are you accusing me of blasphemy?!” Yakov barked. “Since when has Vitya ever consulted me about anything?!”

“Yuuri’s here,” Celestino pointed at him from the center.

The other two gave deep, rumbling sighs, smoothing their clothing down and taking their seats again around the table. Celestino motioned for Yuuri to join them, apologizing for Cao Bin's absence.

“The Warrior Primaja,” Celestino clapped him on the back, jokingly repeating the nickname so many in Glacilis had fondly assigned him over the past week. Yuuri hated it. He’d come to dance. To protect. Not to subdue helpless fire folk to be slaughtered on a battlefield. Was that his destiny? A shudder passed through him.

“Have you felt anything else?” Celestino asked. “Any pull toward the shrine?”

Yuuri swallowed hard, recalling his dreams since returning, so strong and vivid that he was surprised when he didn’t wake up ankle deep in snow, the Fire God’s prison diving deep at his feet. “Well...”

“It’s too early for him to be called,” Elder Baranovskaya cut in, nose wrinkled. “And Yuri Plisetsky is still a contender incase you’ve forgotten.” She wasn’t fond of the idea of a ‘Warrior Primaja’ either. It upset her notion of what a Primaja was, what it should be. Yuuri supposed it was one thing they agreed on...

She turned her eagle’s gaze on him and he tensed. “You did the right thing in returning to Glacilis.”

He gave a stiff nod, remembering her threat at the ball. “So my family—”

“They’ll be fine,” she said. “And you won’t have to worry about Victor anymore.”

A weight dropped thick and heavy in the hollow of his gut.

“What did you do to him?” he asked, hoping it didn’t come out as accusing as he meant it.

“Victor will perform his duties to the Goddess as normal for now,” Celestino said.

For now. “And Minako?”

Elder Baranovskaya clicked her tongue. “What does it matter?” she asked. “That woman is a traitor and now she’ll finally get what she deserves.”

The weight sank lower, tugging at his insides and making him nauseous. “But…” How could he defend her after she’d run from her duty and left the shrine to waste and melt away without a Primaja? After she’d deceived them all and brought flame to the capitol’s door? His jaw clenched.

“This blasphemous spirit has been trending lately, but we always stomp it out,” she said. “I expected Plisetsky to be a problem, but he’s revealed himself a shining example of what a Primaja should be...”

“Yeah...” Yuuri sighed.

“Victor should return in the next week.”

His gaze jerked up.

“He is not to speak with you or make any contact. If he does, you are to alert us immediately.” A knowing smile slipped across her thin lips. “In the case that you are unable, we’ve made arrangements for him to be heavily guarded and monitored at all times. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Yuuri nodded, his face going numb.

Yakov folded his arms, features grouchy as ever as he eyed the tabletop.

Celestino grinned at him. “You can relax now, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nodded. Victor couldn’t plot to betray him again. He should feel relaxed. So then, why did the hairs at the rear of his neck stand on end? Why had he felt more safe collapsed in Victor’s arms, frantic apologies in his ear and sedative flush through his veins?

Still, the elders kept their word.

When Victor returned to the palace in a week’s time, Yuuri saw Makkachin a lot less, the Primaja- not at all. Save for a few pregnant glances across halls and over staircases. They weren’t allowed to share a rink or even to visit the same public areas at once. Victor didn’t answer his phone. Yuuri wasn’t sure he was allowed one. He should have felt safe. Protected. Relieved. Victor didn’t care about him.

 _He cared enough to send me away_ , he told himself

 _But not enough to tell you why_ , his logic countered.

The argument rattled back and forth and back and forth in his mind until his head felt full with it.

“You thirsty or something?”

Yuuri blinked down at his skates, elbows slouched over his knees. Sweat still clung to his forehead and brow after his last practice. Orge. He’d been focusing on Orge a lot lately.

“Hey!” Yuri called again and a towel rapped against his head. “Pork Cutlet Bowl!”

Sighing, Yuuri took the towel and brushed it over his brow. He finally glanced up to see Yuri peering at him, the water bottle still waiting in his hand.

“Thanks.” He took it, unscrewed the cap and drank it down. Yuri still stared at him.

Frowning, he wiped at his mouth. Had he grown horns or something? “Yurio?”

A snarl. “What?”

“You’re the one staring at me.”

Yuri didn’t have a response so he simply stared a while longer, his features softening a bit.

“That thing at the shrine,” The blond sat on the bench beside him, arms folded in his lap. “How’d you do it?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t know.” He said that a lot.

Yuri squeezed his arms in tighter and Yuuri suspected he might berate him.

“I thought I was gonna die,” he whispered instead, fingers biting into his own flesh. “Can you imagine? Death by JJ? How fucked up would that be?”

Yuuri glanced up to watch him, the haze in his mind evaporating. Yuri feigned as if the battle at the shrine hadn’t affected him, but he could see it in the tension around his small frame. In how he clung to Otabek more. In vacant stares across the palace gardens when no one else was looking.

“I guess even he didn’t stand a chance against your creepy as shit powers.” Yuri finished, scratching at the back of his neck.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to say ‘thank you’?”

Yuri’s nostrils flared. “Give me my water back!” He reached for it, but didn’t actually grab it, content to lean forward and stare moodily at the wind traveling through the Evergreens.

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile as he took the same position, tapping a rhythm against the bench with the water bottle. “Have you talked to Victor?”

“A little,” Yuri shrugged. “Mila said he’s been drinking a lot.” He eyed Yuuri from the side. “I thought you’d be too pissed to say his name after what he did.”

“I am,” Yuuri clenched his fists. “I just—”

“I’m surprised the Goddess let him on the shrine after that,” Yuri grumbled. “He’s already way past his ten year mark. Most Primaja don’t even last that long.”

If Yuuri were the Goddess and Victor came to dance for him and him alone, he wouldn’t want to let him go either.

“So have you been called yet?” Yuri turned to face him completely, green eyes burning. “Like officially?”

“Nah.”

“Good.” A confident smirk graced Yuri’s lips. “I still have a chance.”

Yuuri remembered something in the haze of everything. The battle. Victor. The Goddess’s mysterious gift. “You aren’t going to send out those pictures?”

Yuri scoffed. “I’ll beat you to the shrine because I’m better than you.” He glared him down. “I'm not gonna let you use a stupid scandal as an excuse.”

Yuuri gave him a resolute nod, the smile tugging up at the corners of his lips. Well, he definitely didn’t need anymore scandals...

“My boys!” Two arms draped around them from either side and they both turned to see Mila clinging onto them from the middle, red hair snug under a pink and blue cap. “Look at you getting along!”

“Go away, Mila!” Yuri snapped.

“Lord Katsuki!” she cooed. “You still haven’t given me your autograph! You’re like the coolest Primaja ever!”

This annoyed Yuri even more and he stomped away, fingers furled, the spirit of Orge already coursing through his blood as he took to the ice.

Mila giggled into her gloves as she took the abandoned seat next to Yuuri, bright blue eyes focused on him. “It’s kind of warm, today, huh?”

Yuuri stared up at the usually overcast sky, the sun unbidden by clouds and shining bright. “I guess so...”

“You miss Victor?”

 _Yes._ Yuuri didn’t say it. He shouldn’t miss Victor. Victor betrayed him and everyone knew it. The elders, the guards... He’d even heard he and Victor’s names on the lips of politicians and celebrities parroting distorted truths and rumors of some terrible betrayal. Why should he miss Victor?

“He never acted so strange,” Mila said, still studying him, her chin resting in one palm. “Not before you came, Yuuri.” When he still said nothing, she turned to stare forward, at the falling snow, wispy under the sun. “He was always kind of eccentric, but never like this. Maybe nearing the end of your tenure does something to you. Giving up all that spotlight.”

“Maybe,” Yuuri said, but it didn’t feel right, didn’t add up.

“They say Yuri’s mother acted weird toward the end of her career too.”

His ears perked. “Really?” He didn’t remember much of Natalya’s career. He’d only been 12 when she retired and Victor took her place. But there were recordings and primetime features— each of them dazzling. “She was an amazing dancer.” He recalled the image of the feisty blonde, fast-moving and electric on her feet, a true wildcat. “I still haven’t met her...” And probably never would if Yuri had anything to say about it.

“Yeah, neither have I.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “What?”

“She’s a recluse,” Mila said. “Took to the mountains after her tenure. Yuri's granddad said he barely gets a letter.”

Yuuri frowned, eying the younger Plisetsky on the ice before him, movements quick and wired with rage. He knew most Primaja liked to keep to themselves, but to leave your own son in the capitol?

“If you read up on it, it’s not uncommon at all,” Mila said. “Maybe something about the ritual just drives them mad.”

Yuuri swallowed hard, the color seeping from his features.

 _This is crazy_ , Victor had said that night, Yuuri losing consciousness in his arms. _I can’t believe I’m doing this._

“You think Victor’s going crazy?” he asked, his mouth dry.

Mila blinked, mouth gaping open as if she’d only just realized who she was talking to.

  
“N— No! I mean…” She sighed. “Probably not.”

Yuuri was sure her nervous smile was meant to be reassuring, but it frightened him to the point that he had to look away.

“Look on the bright side.” Mila leaned in to rub circles into his rigid shoulders. “Maybe something about you keeps him sane.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s why he’s lasted this long.”

 

* * *

 

A month passed before he got Victor alone.

The council approved three separate photoshoots for each of the Goddess’s chosen, an attempt to fan morale after the rebel attack. They were slotted one after the other and he’d been directed to leave the shooting area as soon as his set was done. After an hour of fishing and listening to the cosmetics crew ramble about the photographer’s last disaster of a shoot, wild Westland parties and how perfect the curve of his eyebrows were, Yuuri discerned that Victor was next.

The shoot itself had been tedious. Yuuri hated the ‘Ice Warrior’ theme they’d given him, icicle fashioned armor jutting out from his shoulders and decorating his torso and legs, a long, white cape rushing down his back. They’d given him an ice spear with a curved sickle ending and would, no doubt, photoshop a fallen firestarter at his feet in post. He might have snuck away hours ago if it wasn’t for Celestino’s insistence and the fact that this could be his only chance to see Victor before his next ritual...

“More attitude!” the photographer practically roared at him, having suggested it a dozen times at this point, the rimless glasses nearly cascading from his sweaty nose.

“Uh... right.” Yuuri blinked at the camera.

The photographer howled in anguish.

Thirty minutes later, after the man had given up and accepted that he wouldn’t be getting a fierce warrior out of Katsuki Yuuri that afternoon, Yuuri found himself shepherded into a dressing area at the rear of the room. He was told to clothe himself promptly and exit out of the door to his left to meet Michele.

He crouched in wait instead, venturing back onto the set the moment he heard Victor enter, ice armor still attached, the white cape cradled in his arms so that it wouldn’t catch onto the maze of standing lights and backdrops. He kneeled behind the set they’d wheeled in for Victor and peered through the tapestry.

Victor was considerably better at posing than he was, though it wasn’t ‘Ice Warrior’ the photographer wanted this time. White, glimmering wings graced Victor's shoulders. Not armor. And he held a stringed instrument with silver trim rather than a spear. They’d dressed him in a fitted sheer suit, shades of pale blue, white and silver imbuing it in snowflake patterns. The photographer directed him with soft, somber poses that Yuuri immediately preferred to his own assignment.

“Victor,” he hissed once the photographer was distracted. “Victor!”

Victor spun behind him, eyes wide, and Yuuri blinked at him through the crack between the backdrop.

“Lord Nikiforov?” someone asked. “Are you alright?”

“Fine!” Victor responded instantly. “But can you give me a moment, Joseph? I think I have a wardrobe malfunction!”

“Not a problem!” the photographer said. “Let one of the girls help you!”

“It’s personal! A rash.” Victor pulled at the suited area around his pelvis. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you take five?”

The crew begrudgingly agreed, and Victor raced around the set to the lonely area behind the back drop. Yuuri stared up at him from the ground, knees pulled into himself.

“Victor,” he breathed, his voice trembling.

“Yuuri,” Victor stood over him, just inches away, a curious expression on his features.

Yuuri waited, expecting him to be the one to move forward, to embrace him with spread arms and a bow on his lips. The need swelled within him. _Don’t make me do it,_ his dignity begged.

He felt Victor’s energy licking toward him, beckoning him, and he cracked. Lunging forward, he sprang to his feet and took him by the arms. The gentle hum snaked over him, pressing in where their skin met and pooling throughout. He relaxed into it, onto his chest, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. Victor’s touch was like walking into the steamy onsen air back in Hasetsu, his mother’s cooking on the breeze. Like coming home.

When he returned to his senses, he nearly wrenched away, embarassed. “Um...” He’d heard of becoming addicted to peoples’ scents and pheromones. Was energy the same? “I still haven’t forgiven you! I just...” He tried to will away the redness on his cheeks. “...wanted to check in with you.” Their fingers still touched at the tips, just enough to preserve the energy link. “Are you okay?”

Victor blinked at him, apparently amused, and he felt foolish. Why had he sought him out again?

“You wanted to talk to me?” Victor asked, eyes widening. “I thought you wouldn’t trust me after what happened.”

“I don’t,” Yuuri hissed, the sting of broken promises and swears to the Goddess resurfacing. “I guess you’ll be letting Yurio use you for target practice then?”

Victor’s expression curdled. “Yuuri—”

“You lied,” he cut in, his voice wobbling. “You betrayed the Goddess.” Betrayed me. “Anyway…” He bit his lip. “I just wanted...” To see you. To touch you. To listen to a thousand more falsehoods and stumble blindly into each one. It was the most truthful thing he’d let himself think in a while and it scared him.

“You’re right.” Victor nodded with a smile, but it was vacant. Defeated. “I was wrong. Minako too. The Goddess chose you for a special purpose and I tried to keep you from it.”

Yuuri’s brow creased, eyes narrowing in at Victor. His lips moved, but his eyes remained leaden and washed out, shoulders slumped. The glittery suit, the wings and the painted face giving him the appearance of a lifeless doll.

“Wh...” he stammered. “What happened to you?”

“The Goddess chose you because she needs someone strong. A fighter. The world needs you.”

It was all Yuuri ever wanted to hear and the words fell dead and hollow on his ears. Victor said them mechanically, nodding routinely at the end of every sentence, eyes drifting like rolling marbles toward the ground.

“This isn’t…” This wasn’t the Victor who sent him away before the rebel attack. Who danced Chara passionately for him across the ballroom. Who challenged convention. “Why are you talking like that?” He reached up to grasp his jaw with both hands and tilted their eyes to meet. “Victor.”

The aqua blue softened and Victor caught his right hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. His arms circled him, bringing him in close so that their energies thrummed together. Even Victor’s energy felt off, muted somehow.

“I really wanted you to take me to Hasetsu,” He breathed against Yuuri’s ear and he sounded more like the Victor who made plans with him under a kotatsu, who held him under stained glass and whispered tall tales in the dark. “I wasn't lying about that.”

Tears burned at Yuuri’s eyes and his arms joined around Victor’s neck. “You lied about a lot.”

“I know.” He smiled against his ear.

Was that all he had to say?! “You drugged me!” he seethed.

“I don't regret it.”

Yuuri choked, lost in some confused garble of anger and surprise.

“I know I should, but I don’t.” His voice hitched at the end. “I’m sorry I-”

“Nikiforov!” someone shouted from behind them and they were back on set again, the icicle armor heavy on his limbs, lights glaring down on him. Hands tackled Victor immediately, dragging him backwards. Michele loomed over Yuuri.

“Katsuki!” he cried, features red and livid. “Why do you keep putting me through this?!”

Yuuri moved around him. “Victor!”

“You know I wouldn't abandon you!” Victor yelled after him as he pulled against his assailants, the wings skewing on his back. “You have to know that!”

How was he supposed to know that after everything that had passed? Yuuri deflated, his head spinning. Every conversation with Victor was a step deeper into this maze and he didn’t want to walk it any longer. But the thought of never talking to Victor again— of never understanding— terrified him even more. “I... I still haven’t mastered Chara...” he muttered to himself more than anything.

Victor relaxed against the guards and let them lead him toward the exit, out of Yuuri’s sight.

“W— Wait!” Yuuri cried. “I need a coach!”

* * *

 

The elders couldn’t argue it. Every Primaja, after all, was granted their predecessor as a coach. Wasn’t that the reason Victor had been reprimanded to begin with? Yuuri explained, with a little embellishment, that he hadn’t perfected Chara yet. That they’d rarely gone over it in practice and he didn’t feel comfortable performing it at the shrine. That his role as a conduit to the Goddess’s most formidable energy could be hampered by that ignorance.

He sold it well enough. Celestino stood by him and even Elder Baranovsaya had to admit a Primaja’s education was crucial to Vespera’s safety. But she didn’t let him go without a catch.

They were allowed three, short practices weekly at the outdoor rink. She arranged for her guard specifically to keep an eye on them the entire time, making certain they discussed only matters of the ritual and sacred dances. If they so much as breached what they’d had for dinner last night, someone intervened.

For the most part, it wasn’t a problem. Yuuri had spent his entire career learning to express himself with his body alone. He’d built a language more precious to him than words and Victor knew it well. Their code consisted of the sacred dances and a slew of pilgrimage rituals and the guards were none the wiser.

The truth was that Yuuri had no issue finding what Chara was to him. Chara was a burst of energy against his shoulder at every brush. The feeling of new life teeming into him, of shared recreation. Eyes like ancient glass following his every move across the ice, enlivining him with the inspiration to begin, the confidence to go on. His Chara was riddled with pain, the shards still embedded and burning deep in the fissures. But if Chara was nothing else, it was honest. It refused to be anything but itself.

Chara for Yuuri was Victor. It always had been and it seemed that nothing— not the Goddess or Lady Baranovskaya's disapproving scowl, not even Victor himself— could change that.

“How’s Makkachin?” he asked one day in the middle of practice, eyes darting toward the edge of the ice where Seung -gil’s men sat stern faced on a group of wooden benches, obviously fed up with babysitting the Goddess’s chosen.

“Probably fine,” Victor smiled. “Yakov’s been keeping her.”

Yuuri’s saliva thickened in the back of his throat and his stomach churned. Recently, he’d started to consider how much of what Victor told him the night of the Quarter Ball was actually a lie. The elders were obviously allowed an extraordinary level of control over a Primaja— even years after their tenure. How long would they keep Victor isolated?

His shoulders jolted when he noticed the guards’ eyes on them again. “L— Like this?!” He struck a random pose.

Victor gave a soft laugh, seemingly unperturbed by their eyes, his gaze rising to the stark blue sky, high over the Evergreens. “It hasn’t been snowing.” He adjusted a fluffy red scarf around his neck, a match with the knitted cap on his head, before lifting his own arms in a graceful motion, palm out. They extended their game of ‘fool the guards into thinking we’re actually talking about practice’, using their dullest moves until the men lost interest and fell back into conversation.

“The Quarter Ball is coming up,” Yuuri said, hopeful eyes on Victor as he mirrored his pose. “Will you be there?”

“Yeah,” Victor nodded, gaze lifted again.

 _Will you be on lockdown the entire time?_ “What are you thinking about?”

He dropped his posture, but his eyes still fixed on the sky. “Retirement.”

“Your grandmother’s garden?” Yuuri smiled. It had been ages since they talked about it. Exploring the ends of Vespera in search for a floral paradise. It seemed silly now. Surreal. Like they’d been charting a course to castles in the clouds.

A grin curved over Victor’s lips and he turned to face Yuuri. “Mm.”

Yuuri twisted himself into a pose, arms stretched out to the side. “Like this?” he said loudly before lowering his voice again. “Will they let you? “ he asked. “After what... you did?”

Victor laughed. “I don’t think they’ll have much to say about it.” His lips set downward and Yuuri’s heart ached.

“I still want to come.”

“You’ll be here,” Victor moved in close, forgetting their game. “For the next ten years.” His hands found Yuuri’s and clung to them.

Yuuri winced at how harshly he pressed into him, his energy burning, spilling pangs of misery out to gather in Yuuri’s hands and move up his arms.

“I— It’ll be okay. You’ll visit me, right?” he smiled, trying to offset the dark cloud with his own energy, thumbing gently at Victor’s trembling fingers. “You’ll bring pictures?”

Victor leaned in, his lips curling up. For a second, Yuuri thought he had helped. Then Victor tackled him by the wrist and veered off toward the woods to the left, away from the guards.

“Victor!” Yuuri grunted, braking on his skates and then stumbling forward with the force of Victor’s grasp. He heard the guards from behind, calling after them. “What are you doing?!”

They scrambled to the rink’s edge, through the partition and into the snow. Yuuri stumbled to his feet and Victor held him up, beckoning him further into the woods, laughing almost manically, hands squeezing at Yuuri’s far too tightly as they swerved in and out between tree trunks and piles of fallen pine.

“Victor, you’re scaring me!”

Between the blades against the snow, Victor’s frenzied guidance and Yuuri’s resistance, they tripped, tumbling down a hill at the root of an Evergreen. Yuuri landed first, Victor’s arms planted protectively at the small of his back, limbs sprawled out in the snow. It didn’t keep a pile of fallen pines from toppling over his head.

“Victor,” he grunted, anger and shock fighting for control in his features.

Victor’s shoulders trembled with laughter, laughter and more laughter and then he wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Victor?” Yuuri breathed, thumbing at the tears as they collected on his cheeks.

“I wish we met before,” He latched on to him in a desperate fervor as though he could vanish into Yuuri, chin nestled at the crook of his neck, hair falling over them both, a silver curtain. “Somewhere else. Not like this.”

Heat climbed up Yuuri’s neck, his head spinning. “What’s going on?” He dug his fingers into Victor’s shoulder’s, forcing him up so he could meet his eyes. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Over there!” someone called in the backdrop.

Victor shook his head. “Knowing doesn't help. It just hurts,” he said, voice fragile. “You can’t change it.” He pressed their foreheads together, pushing into Yuuri as though he could melt within him, eyes glistening. “I think I loved you.”

Yuuri’s breath caught, the white snow and trembling blue blurring a strange cacaphony.

Victor let out a disbelieving laugh and the pale aqua brightened, the heart on his lips growing as though the admission brought him some sort of respite.

“I love you,” he whispered against his lips and his energy surged. The magic link opened and everything in him laid itself bare and Yuuri felt it. Everything. Hurt, anger and fear. Passion more genuine than any words or promises or swears to the Goddess. “I love you, Yuuri.”

 Yuuri felt so full with Victor’s emotions that he barely registered the rough hands at their sides tearing them apart. The link vanished with it and a chorus of opposing thoughts filled his mind. The guards were only doing their job. Victor was a traitor. Victor wasn’t thinking straight. Victor was being crazy.

_Victor loves me._

“Stop!” he found himself saying, fighting through the men holding him down at the chest. “Victor!” He clawed for him. “Victor!”

“It’ll be okay,” Victor said as they led him backward, guns crossed over his chest. “I’ll be fine. You’ll be…” He forced a smile, but it didn’t take, twisting and then crumbling from his lips. “I‘m sorry,” he bit out, his voice breaking. “I tried.”

Victor looked as though he might say something more when one of the guards clamped something over his mouth and he went still suddenly, collapsing into Seung-gil’s arms.

“No!” Yuuri let out a strangled cry he didn’t even recognize as his own. His power flared, sending the guards at his arms stumbling back. It took twenty of them and Celestino in his ear to subdue him that evening.

They weren’t allowed practice together after that.

* * *

Yuuri held out hope for a meeting at the Quarter Ball, but his optimism quickly fizzled the moment he started down the grand staircase. The council kept Victor behind velvet ropes in the Elders Court like a rare figure-piece. They made it clear that Yuuri wasn’t allowed nearby and Celestino had to leave the area just to talk with him. Yuuri watched with growing frustration as Victor alternated between Yakov, Yuri, Chris and his adoring audience for conversation, the charming grin not quite as convincing or radiant as usual. Sometimes Yuuri doubted he was even trying. Once or twice, Victor’s words— always delivered with the most saccharine of grace— were met with widened eyes from the receiver and scolding from Yakov.

Yuuri’s luck wasn’t much better. Faceless people crowded him from every end, wanting to congratulate him and asking for product endorsements from the ‘Warrior Primaja’. Sometimes they just wanted to touch him... And then there were the rumors.

“You and Lord Nikiforov don’t seem to be on speaking terms tonight.”

“Did you break up?”

“Did you really try to elope to the Southlands?”

Yuuri groaned to himself once he managed to escape to a lonely corner. Where did people get these ideas? Phichit insisted he relax. Drink. Try to enjoy himself before the Exhibition- which he hadn’t put much thought into anyway, a muddled blend of Lupe and Phobos. He’d barely been able to concentrate with the capitol still in shambles and his teacher of 20 odd years imprisoned, without Victor’s eyes on him… He clenched his fist.  He stood steps from achieving everything he ever wanted. The Goddess chose him. The Warrior Primaja. A hero like Glacilis had never seen. But what was all of that without his inspiration? Without Victor?

He continued stealing glances and Victor met every look with a tired resignation and a hint of shame. As though Yuuri didn’t mark his biggest success as a coach, but his most crucial failure.

It was just as well. Logically, Victor lied to his face. Drugged him. Betrayed the Goddess. Sent him away. Logically, someone capable of that couldn’t care for him. Not really.

 _Victor loves me_ , a stubborn voice came from within.

Yuuri knew logic. But he also knew what he felt that day, back to the snow, Victor’s tears wet and warm on his cheek.

“You look deep in thought.”

Yuuri turned to see Chris at his side in surprisingly formal robes, white with black flowers embroidered through out. He held a yellow hued cocktail in each hand.

“Thought you might like one.”

Yuuri took it immediately, his rule about drinking before performances be damned. Despite the fruity flavor, it was strong going down, the taste leaving a burning sensation in his throat. Good.

“Easy there,” Chris laughed as he watched him down a third of the glass in one gulp. “You still have to perform.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed across the ballroom at the Elder’s Court where Victor sat with Yuri and Otabek, chatting intermittently and watching the crowd. Yuri reached out to swat at his shoulder over something he’d said and a burn stronger than what the liquor could induce roiled within. If Victor really was a threat, really was dangerous, why was he allowed to be close to Yuri Plisetsky? To anyone?

Why the focus on Yuuri? And why not give Victor a chance to explain himself? Something wasn't right...

The Goddess’s power pressed out around him. Victor didn’t belong to capitol aristocracy, to the elders or the nosy journalists. Victor was...

 _Mine_ , the hungry, buzzing that filled his head during the battle at the shrine flooded his mind and he shook his head, taking another gulp of the drink to calm himself.

“Any luck finding JJ?” It helped to hear his own voice.

“Not really,” Chris murmured and then his eyes brightened with interest. “Heard you’re closer to your calling.” He smirked. “The kid’s still complaining about it.”

“Yeah...”

“How’d it feel?”

“Heavy,” Yuuri vaguely recalled the incredible pressure with an absent mind, eyes still rooted on the Primaja. This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about right now…

“What are they going to do to him?” he blurted, turning on Chris with pleading eyes. “What he did was unforgivable, right? Will they lock him away when he retires?”

Chris eyed the Elder Court wistfully, the edges of his lips tugging down again, and Yuuri suddenly felt selfish. Chris cared about Victor too. He’d known him much longer than he had. How was he taking this? Did he blame him?

“Can’t say.” Chris finally responded, taking a sip from his glass. His eyes left Victor, flitting back to Yuuri. “What do you think should happen?”

Yuuri's breathing paused. “Me? Ah...” The correct answer of course would be imprisonment. Or worse. Blasphemy against the Goddess was the greatest sin. At the least, banishment. “I don’t know,” he offered instead.

They stood in silence for a while, drinking and watching the night pass.

“I’m as bad as him.” He didn’t know why he said it. Why he’d waited to bring it up until now. “I knew it was going to happen... I ran into a band of rebels a while back. Heard about the spy and JJ’s awakening.” His fingers folded into the drink, clenching into the hard glass. “But I didn’t say anything.”

“Why?” Chris asked, taking another sip. “You could barely handle it when you found out about this.” He nodded toward his muzzle with a grin and shame slid down Yuuri shoulder’s, hot and thick. “They must seem barbaric to you.”

“I...” Yuuri studied the hem of his pale blue robes. “I understand why they did it. I might have done the same.” His eyes widened. “If I were fireborn I mean! Not that it’s not okay for you to work for the capitol! I... er—”

Chris chuckled and gave him a pat on the back. “Yuuri, it’s alright. Don’t choke.”

Yuuri cleared his throat and swallowed down another gulp of his cocktail. “I still can’t believe Victor hid so much from me... From everyone.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You still mad at him?” A smirk crept over his lips. “I heard you guys made out last practice.”

Yuuri’s shoulders twitched. “Still tells you everything, huh?” he asked with a wry grin.

“That’s what I’m there for,” Chris muttered. “Dutiful friend and protector.”

“Mm,” Yuuri watched as they set the stage for the Exhibition and his stomach rumbled with the liquor. He was suddenly regretful for accepting.

“Victor was trying to help you, Yuuri,” Chris eyed him from the side. “It was stupid, but it was the only way he knew how.”

“Help me?” Yuuri frowned. By putting the entire capitol at risk and sending the only dancer who could fight it away? If that was the case, he didn’t want Victor’s help. “He betrayed the Goddess. He had to know about the rebels. Might have even let them—”

“He didn’t.”

Yuuri blinked. “What?”

Chris drew in a deep breath. “It was a coincidence. Victor had no idea about the attack.”

Yuuri’s heartbeat quickened, features going red. “Y— You expect me to believe that?”

“The day of the ritual is a good time for anyone to sneak something past the capitol and a great time to make a statement,” Chris said. “Historically, more terrorist attacks and conspiracies are attempted then than any day year round and none of them are related.” He tilted the cocktail, staring as the yellow slush crept up the glass. “Victor needed a distraction and JJ is a drama king.”

“Th— Then why—”

“Come to the shrine tomorrow.”

Yuuri nearly spat the blend of liquor, ice and syrup from his lips. “What?!”

“I can get you in,” he said, casually smiling at passerbys as though they were discussing the freshness of the hors d’oeuvres. “The barrier is still down. Turns out century old magic is pretty hard to replicate. There’ll be more security in place, but I’m Captain.” He flashed him a toothy grin. “I can maneuver.”

Yuuri stared in horror. “Why... why would you—”

“If you want to understand Victor,” Chris told him, all smiles evaporated, an uncharacteristically solemn look in his moss colored eyes. “You’ll come to the shrine.”

Yuuri fell twice during his performance later. It matched well enough with the themes of fear and sorrow… Victor's exhibition was more technically flawless, but he skated with Lupe as his overarching theme as well, sullen and withdrawn. Drifting further and further away. He didn’t meet Yuuri’s eyes this time.

Yuuri wandered the palace in silence for a time after the ball, Phichit and Michele at his side. Perhaps he needed space to think. Perhaps he hoped he’d run into Victor. He even convinced them to visit the secret suite only to find it barred up, wooden slabs nailed into the stone over the door and the Goddess’s inscription. It wasn’t a surprise. He’d expected this. What he hadn’t expected were the tears. He hadn’t expected himself, exhausted from skating and vulnerable from liquor, to slide down the marble, trembling in anger and confusion. Phichit kneeled at his side and Mickey flailed uselessly beside them.

 _Damn you, Victor,_ he thought, folding into himself.

He had to go. They hadn’t left him any other choice.

* * *

 

Phichit was probably the most disobedient guard Yuuri knew and his Captain allowed it. They were both present the next day, ushering him into the back of a nondescript construction vehicle and instructing him not to make a sound. Was Victor’s rebel streak contagious? Was everyone just casually disobeying Council Law now?

“Won’t they notice I’m gone?” Yuuri asked, his voice unnaturally high. “What if they come looking for me?”

“I said I took you to Asteris Rink to practice and get your mind off things,” Phichit winked, but he fidgeted with his own collar, movements more rough and rigid than usual. “We sent a decoy car to the rink and everything.”

A decoy car?! “But Elder Baranovskaya—”

“Spent all night up with Yakov.” A slow grin spread over Chris’s lips. “He wasn’t feeling too well after the ball and she was all too happy to console him.”

“Whoa!” Phichit brightened at the gossip.

“Oh...” Yuuri uttered as they crowded him into the trunk of the orange contraption, dusty and smelling of oil and dirt. Moments later, they were off up the mountain and Yuuri thought he might lose whatever his stomach had left of dinner. He hadn’t eaten breakfast...

Not even three months had passed and he was already sneaking onto sacred land again. Though the experience was considerably less volatile this time…

They reached several check points and Chris explained each time that he was taking advantage of the fallen barrier to offer Victor extra protection during his ritual. He was his head guard after all.

When they settled far enough up the mountain, they abandoned the vehicle and kept close to the rocky land as they approached the summit. Within minutes, the snowy dirt tinged ground beneath them gave way to familiar pale green ice and they stared down at the familiar clearing below, now devoid of bodies and bloodshed, flame and ice shards. The quiet snow sheeted clearing stood pristine and pure as though the battle had never taken place, the Fire God’s prison strong as ever, ice tendrils looming high from the crater at its center.

As they slid down the ice covered entrails of the mountains and toward the clearing, a spark crackled across Yuuri’s skin like static shock and he recognized the feeling immediately. He clenched his teeth, preparing for the heaviness, the sensation of being pressed in on. It didn’t come, but he still felt the shift in his energy. Growing. Waiting. When they reached the base, boots fixing themselves in the snow, he noticed Chris staring at him.

“You can feel its pull, cant you?” he asked. “Victor was like that too when it first started.”

Pull. That’s what it was. A magnet summoning him deeper. Calling him. He turned to the center where the spikes stretched high over the mountains, pupils dilating.

“That’s it,” he heard Chris whisper, faint and faraway. “Let it guide you.”

The tips of Yuuri’s lips curled up unconsciously. Yes.

“Chris,” Phichit’s voice, small and uncomfortable, came next and it eased him to the ground again. “What are you doing?! I thought—”

Yuuri swallowed hard, blinking several times to clear whatever haze had possessed him to journey toward the heart of the shrine, to give in to the Goddess’s call. This wasn’t right. Not yet. Victor was Primaja.

Chris ignored Phichit, brushing past him and reaching for Yuuri’s chest. “Let’s try—”

“Stop!” Yuuri pulled back instinctively. Even if the Goddess was calling him to serve, he couldn’t answer now. Everyone knew that. Chris should have known that. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come. He started around the perimeter of the mountains, searching for the cavern where he and Yuri entered on his first visit. He could escape through there. He would just need to think of an excuse for the guards...

“Yuuri!” he heard Chris calling after him, loud and urgent. The Goddess’s power flared and crackled within him. Pulling him.

“I can’t,” he whimpered through clenched teeth, falling against the mountainside. Victor was Primaja. Victor was Primaja!

As though he’d summoned him, Victor emerged from the caverns, bare feet sinking into the snow, Georgi at his back. Yuuri immediately ducked down, hiding himself behind a large rock at the base of the mountains. Chris and Phichit seemed to do the same, the shrine suddenly quiet again.

Unaware, Victor approached the only part of the clearing where ice covered the ground, his head bowed low. The wind welcomed him, whipping the skirts and sleeves of the colorful robes and howling to greet him. Like a song, Yuuri realized, remembering the wind’s melody from Celestino’s recording.

Victor faced the ice for a long while, unmoving, in an unspoken battle. He succumbed after long and, with a deep breath, leaned down to remove his skate guards.

Yuuri’s heart went wild. Here he was, illegally watching Victor’s ritual for a second time. The first time it had earned him an awakening. He doubted he would be so lucky now.

Victor began to dance and Yuuri’s shoulders sagged. Lupe. Always the dance of sorrow. He’d been skating Lupe for the past three months. During practices. At shows. For his Exhibition the night before. Chara had vanished with the Shadow Rail three months ago.

As Victor’s movements quickened, the clearing came to life.

The wind howled more fiercely, joining with the snowfall to form a swirling funnel around him as he danced. Icy magic drew out from his essence and the funnel elongated and grew, stretching toward the crater at the heart of the shrine.

His distress forgotten, Yuuri watched in awe as Victor performed with an honesty that eluded his public performances. He always hid at least a little in public, behind grace, dramatics and pretty smiles, but this was raw Lupe. That unblinking depth he’d gazed into that night in their secret place, the storm of emotion that charged through the energy link at their last practice, all-consuming and painful.

Just like in the forbidden video, his motions grew faster and faster, until he was merely a blur of silver, rose, lavender and ice blue. This is where Celestino’s video cut out, but Victor went on, dancing with an almost desperate urgency, the wind biting so harshly that Yuuri had to shield himself. Didn’t he feel it? Didn’t it hurt?

Yuuri squinted through the snow storm Victor had summoned, catching a glimpse of his expression. His heart dropped to his stomach. He recognized that look. It was that rapidly descending window between the last grip on the reigns of control slipping through your fingers and being consumed by something that wasn’t of you. The Goddess claimed complete control over Victor now and it didn’t look like she planned on relinquishing it anytime soon.

The swirling funnel drew in around him, hugging him, squeezing him. The color seeped from his skin, lips white and greying, eyes glazed. Yuuri stood before he could register his legs moving.

“Why won’t it stop?”

“Yuuri!” He felt strong arms tackle him from behind and Phichit was wrestling him against the side of the mountain.

“No!” He tried to break free. “Victor—!”

“You can’t go over there!” Phichit slammed him back first against the rock. “You haven’t been called yet! It’ll kill you!” He snapped around toward Chris who hovered not far behind, gaze drifting opposite the storm, lips set in a grimace. “I told you we shouldn’t have brought him! He didn’t need to see it!”

His best friend’s words disintegrated to a low buzz in his ears as the funnel thickened around Victor, crushing in, suffocating him.

“Victor!” Yuuri threw himself toward the storm, bucking as Phichit tackled him to the ground, squeezing his arms at his sides.

“This is for your own good.”

It seemed like eons when the wind began to die down. The funnel dissipated, drifting toward the prison’s tendrils and vanishing. Victor collapsed, unmoving, onto the ice.

Yuuri shoved Phichit aside and he let him. A ringing started in his ears as he sprinted across the clearing, not bothering to brace himself as he scrambled onto the ice. He tripped, skidding on his knees and tackling Victor by the wrist to still himself. The skin was indiscernible from the ice.

“Victor?” he cried, eyes tearing as he drew his head to rest on his lap. Ice beaded across his greyed skin in tiny curling specks, even his silver tresses frosted with the element. His features, where they had been creased and twisted in the thick of the storm, shone smooth and peaceful. Eerily still like a porcelain doll.

Yuuri pressed a hand to his cold cheek and noticed the wrongness instantly. Victor’s energy. He couldn’t sense it.

A tremor started in his hands and trailed its way down to his shoulders. This couldn’t be happening. “No,” he whispered, lowering himself and drawing Victor in closer, pressing into him desperately. Searching. It had to be there. “Please…”

The snow crunched behind him and he jolted around.

“We have to get him to the palace!” he forced through tears, not bothering to wipe at the quickly freezing mess flowing from his eyes and nose. “H— Help me move him!”

Chris stared at the prone body with the same grim expression, eyes glazed. Phichit faced downward and clutched his arm at the bend.

“What are you waiting for?!” Yuuri snapped.

“Is that it?” He turned to see Georgi approaching with slow, deliberate steps.

“I don’t think I can do this again.” The guard clutched at his middle. “It makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Must be difficult for you.” Chris murmured. Calm. Everyone was so calm.

“TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!” Yuuri screamed, his throat raw, Victor’s limp body shaking with the force of it.

Georgi blinked, eyes going wide as if seeing Yuuri for the first time. “H— Hey!” He lifted an arm to point at him. “What the hell is he doing here?! He can’t be here!” he stammered, turning on Chris. “This is grounds for exile!”

“Then I guess you better keep quiet then,” Chris crossed him and stood over Victor. “Help me lift him. We’ll explain back at the infirmary.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, but he still clung to Victor, ice streaks frozen down his cheeks, looking for a trace of energy. A heat signature. Anything.

He felt nothing. As though one of the Goddess’s ice sculptures settled, melting, in his arms.

His breathing came quick and erratic, pupils blowing. 

Chris sighed as he knelt down beside Yuuri. “He might not die if we get him to the infirmary, but if you keep holding on to him like that, he’ll strangle for sure.”

This prodded him from the daze and he managed a nod. After trying with trembling arms for a few short moments, he let Chris and Georgi lift Victor onto a stretcher. It was readily available. Like they’d planned for this.

Chris suggested Yuuri leave in the construction vehicle with Phichit while he and Georgi carry Victor out through the main entrance. Yuuri refused to leave his side and it took ten minutes for Chris to convince him that 1. Victor’s chances of survival were better in an emergency vehicle 2. Yuuri would be caught redhanded if he tried to exit the shrine normally and 3. Every second he spent arguing these facts was detrimental to Victor’s health. So he surrendered, leaving Victor in the guards’ care while he and Phichit made their way back to the emergency vehicle.

“Sorry Yuuri,” Phichit's gaze permanently fixed on the rock as they made their way toward the rusted construction car, the wind calm again in the backdrop. “You... weren’t supposed to know. I wasn’t either.” He squeezed the keys in his palm, the metal digging marks into the skin. “I just thought it might…” He trailed off and shook his head.

Yuuri swallowed hard, something bitter and gummy in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. This is why Victor went missing. This always happened. Hope sprang in his chest. “This always happens,” he repeated out loud as he let Phichit guide him into the trunk. “So he’s going to be okay.”

Phichit settled a hand on the hatch door and met his gaze, dark eyes more pitiful than he’d ever seen them.

“I don’t know." He looked away and pulled the hatch down with a sharp tug, leaving Yuuri in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone actually guessed this in the comments once and then deleted their guess. So kudos to you, you smart person, you! (Or maybe I'm just really bad at plot twists. That could also be true.) Same for BigBossy who compared it to a popular role playing game. Oops. I didn't steal the idea, I swear! Consciously anyway.
> 
> So now Yuuri knows why Victor's been trying to scare him away. If you still hate him, I get it. He went to pretty extreme lengths. I know you have questions and the next chapter will go into more detail about the whys and the hows, etc.
> 
> Anyhoo, please let me know what you think in the comments. I've been sitting on this for so long, I'm so glad I can finally share! O_O


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